clouds
not square not triangles,
not solid, can’t be trapped
in the palm of a hand
clouds
transform
change with each puff
rotation temperature
clouds
sail, float, fly fast
across an expanse
of see through curtains
of breaths
clouds
are paintings
like etchings
made of sand
by tides and laps
clouds
like the sins of man
morph, ever present
clouds
are plays
that tell stories
to the eyes that see
the creative productions
clouds
are were my proud head
turns to stare and dream
clouds
are my poems beginnings.