Five This is sinister. My left hand is more dextrous than my right hand is. People who freefall with defective parachutes jump to conclusions. Puffballs in the sky possibly the breath of gods. Rain must be their spit. Rubber ringed at birth, lambs develop skeletons that are quite detailed. The dry leaf floats down from where it clung all winter, lands in a puddle. Tony Cloke If you have any comments on this poem, Tony Cloke would like to hear from you.