• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 11
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And the Clouds

“And the bright moon shone through me”

And the clouds, they ate me up,
devoured me hungrily
and completely,
hardened, creaking, restless bone and
long, brown, split-ended hair
all included,
and spit out a brand new soul –
one no church ritual could ever create,
one bright as supernova starshine,
one pure as the night wind off the water,
midwifed by southern crickets’ trill and bullfrog basso,
tumbling, trembling into this world unannounced,
befriending errant whales
and sisterly volcanoes
and hugging Joshua Trees and Redwoods tightly
to my heart
in fire-forged, kaleidoscopic joy
somewhere along the way,
slowly capturing the world in images and words of poetry,
having long ago let loose
the Mason Jar captive fireflies and grasshoppers
of my rural youth
and set free that urge inside of me
to explore, to wander, to learn, and to touch –
to engage all six senses
as I memorize this world


And the Clouds

As all the while, you,
you just stand there,
quaking in your mess of thunderous fear,     
afraid someone
might see you try
and then alert the riot and apathy police.

Meanwhile, the mountains ripped all the sin from my bones,
from my very marrow,
with their sharpened, fanged milk teeth
and bottled it in tiny vials.

Now, all I know
is what I have forgotten –
all those names I can’t recall,
and as I look heavenward,
the clouds,
I wonder if they, the clouds,
the clouds can smell the desperation on me.