Post #85

The thing about clouds / I used to write a lot about my clouds – one language and two continents ago. Their snowy march across my spring was proud, like arching backs on certain beds, and so seemed future paths which, back then, flowed ahead. My cloud processions led the way a while and yet, no cloud’s reliable – they fled to leave behind a new life: new apartment, empty skies, save for a haze of sand on the horizon, and the rising heat of January’s end. A “cloud”? In this Dubai, it’s but the tenth time that I squeeze the word into a poem – Boeings paint my skies with semblances of these, not saturnine enough to prove the mantra still holds true: whatever you might think, whatever you might do, the clouds above you move. @verse by MR