I especially love it when clouds have outlines
I’ve always found this to be true
Something about a line drawn 
an excision of the locus
from limitless dispersions of apparent form 
watery blots in the thick blue of the sky
so encompassing of all that we know
we can scarcely give it a name
that is not God
I’ve received a message from spirit
A dead Blue Jay by my car
A bird who creates firm boundaries
and fears not
speaking up 
or being seen
So that is my divine assignment of fulmination
… how do I? Where do I? Why do I?
and the answers have appeared
like the black and white figures
in a developing photograph
tinged with the red light of the dark room
Here is where one may draw the border
thereby escaping all that wispy camouflage 
that makes words fade into the back of the throat
that creates belly aches of worry
and complaint gnash and flop to escape
or drown in silence

In the future,
let me know what you need from me
but make no assumptions about what I am capable of