5
Beneath a solitary cloud,
I try to imagine
Its hunger for solid form.
It is trapped in its becoming,
Blown along in a captivity of chaos.
I weigh the blessings of confinement
Inside the body’s slower entropy.

2
Ancient farmers in dry places
Watched the clouds.
Clouds mean rain.
Rain means life.
And so they discovered
That human fate falls from the sky
And rises from the ground.
This is the source of all mystery.