Photo by Adarsh Kummur on Unsplash
by Kip Knott
The only cloud in the sky tangles for a moment in the dead branches of the only tree in my plowed field. The tree used to be an elm. I carved my name into it when I was ten and claimed it forever as my own. Now its bark—having sloughed off years ago—lies gathered all around it like a shadow that may outlast me still. I don’t know what kind of cloud it is that has gathered in the branches, and I don’t have time to name it. In less than a minute, it untangles and vanishes in the breeze, leaving nothing behind to show that it ever even existed at all.
Kip Knott is a writer and part-time art dealer from Ohio. His writing has recently appeared in Best Microfiction 2024 and The Wigleaf Top 50. His most recent book of poetry, A Mob of Kangaroos, is available from Ridge Books.
