Where Clouds Are

the future is not on earth;
the future is somewhere else.
where clouds are, thought the

children, being clouds themselves
and happy in that way
in the seed of the impossible

growing overnight from magic
beans in this, their guessing game.

the present is like the
jack-in-the-box
they keep on cranking,

that dubious toy
though it makes them
uncomfortable

every time;
the jerk in the music,
the bad surprise:

the jerk popping up
in its mustard outfit,
its tricolour hat-

with its scary grin.
but he won't win
the future is with the angels

secretly (within).

in the smile of the Princess,
it's disguised.
it's the valentine unsent

but always arriving.

mary angela douglas 17 october 2015