The clouds are shy when you are around,
they stop peeking around the shoulder of the sun and simply
dissolve
into particles smaller than pores, pills
that I can swallow – I am their mother, the bulk of
their weapon
pass all the greyness through word of mouth. I hurt when
everyone else is scared to,
I water everything so that the sky does not have to.
You said I should be gentle with you
so the clouds are afraid
to be awake when
you are. You do not take up too much space
but those stars in your eyes had to get there somehow, fog’s
only here in the morning because our
souls are making love –
all of the rest of the day it is up my skirt. I
am the mother to mist, but you get along better with sun.