I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same cloud twice.
They scatter in their own way,
spreading across the sky, and crashing into each other.
Without a sound they collide and combine.
They darken and release what they don't need.
A quiet blessing to some farmer in the midwest.

I was waiting for a peach to ripen on the tree.
Three days later it was suddenly out of reach;
As if it wanted to get closer to the sun.
So just a little more, its branches tilted up.
I could draw that tree each day,
And no two sketches would look the same.

I sit at my table, on the side of the street,
watching beautiful people mill about before me.
Some fought the current to buy my wares,
with a smile they disappear into the flow again.
I set up in the same spot each week,
each time with new faces to greet.