Unremarkable
had been the day,
when a cloud saved my life.
Upon this day did the drear
of summer's nearing end loom
as death does above the ancient men,
slaves of money and nothing;
Over top a blue mirror of water I paddled.
My board did glide across the sky,
cutting sunset with ripples as scissors part paper
It was a quiet tear
I wept, careful
so the voice would not
skip across the water to the wooded beaches so to brush
the waiting ear
And so I paddled,
wondering what all of me was for,
this sadness with no meaning
And as it goes,
I had been answered by a thunderhead,
met with it upon the spin of my paddleboard
Looming distantly overtop the trees,
two-hundred feet tall and three-hundred broad,
blazing pink then in the burning sun,
perhaps black anytime else;
I looked upon it and sighed free a plume of tar,
smog,
pollution,
and upwards it went to die behind the sun
What am I here for? had I asked.
Not much,
--told me the Cloud That Saved My Life,
but to cut sky water with paddleboard fin,
look on a thousand sunsets,
see towering cowboy clouds,
and wait for relief
which some day shall rain.