Cloud

The way a tree catches one cloud’s rain–
it is all one story, and there are
voices that come over you on
temperamental winds.

Our dreams are erased and re-written
on ancient, enduring pages.
And not just our dreams.

The raw-throated cawing
and what it means;
blood in veins and what it means.

If choices are turns,
what shape does your life draw?
What more are your thoughts
than a drumbeat?

City on fire;
woods on fire.
Marshmallow soul
held just close enough
to get perfectly toasted.

Slap of a trout tail;
slap of a pony tail.
Air like perfume.

Cool and alone
watching the eclipse of the moon
through binoculars on your roof.

Neighbors hoot.
Youth:

not knowing the verses yet
from the refrain.
Not yet knowing nothing.
Knowing only everything.

Love blows by, leaving your face wet.
And not just love.

You drift over yourself like a cloud.
You are a windy mood at a time.
A bee swarm, a perfume.
A beating of blood.

Moon on a stick, reflecting fire.
Darkening beneath
the entire earth.

You blink, surrounded and cool.
Suddenly the voice you’ve sought (it seems)
comes in sharp and clear and illuminated and
at a speed you can just keep up with
but could never take down and share or
even return to.

Love arrives and you descend on each other
like incarnating goddess and god–
flesh perfectly all it suggests,
flesh like dreams.

 

 

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