Swollen

The clouds move
like an army
over the mountain.
Their bellies barely
scraping the jagged edges
and tips of pines.
With each moment,
they grow larger
swallowing the last
of blue sky.
The wisps become thickets
of dark grey and white.
Though they are quick to pass
through a maze
of valleys and peaks
they stagnate
on the far east edge
and begin to release
days of rain
that they have been keeping inside.
Dousing the plains
and slinking further up
until
there is nothing left
to hide.

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