In the beginning the sky was cold butter,
hard and riddled with kernels of corn,
which, as the world heated, popped:
And thus the clouds were born.

You appear and disappear,
Blocking the sunny glare,
Travelling in the windy sphere,
Wearing a cotton like veneer,
Dancing in a misty love affair,
O clouds, I will capture you one day, beware

Like a lake of glass,
or an endless, cloudless sky.
Calm is a virtue.

when the moon is full and very, very bright
you have to look twice and respect the sight
it's been coming around, since the start of it all
when it's at it best, it appears like a ball
that ball is bright if the clouds are just right
shining in the new day as it completes its night's flight

Brian Hill - 2020 # 240

He likes the clouds
Slowly shifting spinning circles showing
Shapes solely he sees

What beauty does he see
In a storm-cloudy mind
What form does he see
Fit to call me “perfect?”

I like the stars
Pictures cut through the night sky
I see as the past prescribes.

I do not know what he sees in me,
But how I love
His careful consideration
The wonder in his eyes

Clouds
sketching
synchronistic
footnotes
into the novelties
of the day

Tucking into the folds
of late August valleys

painted in vintage clover

falling toward winter

Ivory forms lazily turn mobiles overhead

As symbols,
as comfort
as bucket filled rain.

They said passing by me that they would put out their eyes,
The clouds did as they died across the battlefield,
As the gauzy horses stanched the wept blood,
As the thorns, gnats, and briers, wound into
A dove’s nest of bayonets and knives,
The clouds died in insurrection,
And the night breathed freely and the stars cleared the mud.

to be a bird of great wing,
pulling across the folds
of cloudy space

intimately familiar of each
turn between misty
white finials

with a quick flap—
out of reach,
into the opening of a
grey mountain—

evading the glimpse of
all but the sharpest
earthbound
eye...


"that space between mists"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved