Beyond the budded lattice,
Is it my fault, dear reader, that such a cloud makes me think of
The grass that would be a cloud
heard that it wasn’t allowed.
“There’s troubles enough;
the world needs more fluff!”
it sniffed with an air quite highbrowed.
More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
I would touch the stone
and read its hew
as the wind has done
as arching cloud
reaches for sea
would I yearn toward this vastness
hoping it would touch me.
With many thanks to photographer Art Lindeman.
I think there were ten
they plunked on the pavers
a trifling token.
I reached up to squeeze
the miserly cloud
but it rollicked away
laughing out loud.
I stood with the happy dirt of the garden in my knuckles
noted the sky
at my singular place:
that lavish snowy dowager cloud
its raiment billowing winglike across the blue
was only that.
This was no explosion, no fire, no loss of home or life.
It was just a cloud.
I stood and thought about that.
Why am I so blessed? And what do I do about it?
On this International Day of Peace, I wish you, dear reader,
a moment of peace
and insight into what we do with it.