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Making way across the sky
clouds are engaged in proving
that the earth is moving.
But more than that,
each cloud knows in its heart
that every end is a start.

They let go of history
to follow their destiny
Shifting shapes and leaving traces
drawing animals and faces
turning blue into art sublime
They grow thick and play for time
Hoping to prevail, but to no avail

For they are clouds
created by the will of the wind
and lapsed on its whim
as thick as they get
as hard as they try
their chances are slim.


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Alien, alienated. That's me.

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