(Poem #109 on new numbering scheme)
Clouds pile up and they push against the vague, hazy horizons. A wind from the northwest grasps at the recumbent leaves so that they panic and protest, leaving them coldly disconsolate.
– a reverse nonnet
Caveat: Nonnet #91 “The whirlwind”
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I don’t feel that I often make insightful comments about your poetry, except to say that I like certain poems a great deal. This is one of them! I love the sounds of the consonants as they “pile up” in the poem.