maybe one day the clouds will come down
we'll walk on silver, peach. or crimson
on the softest ground
through fields of evanescence
how lovely to be opaque
translucent as a lake
to float there or to seem to
substance of a dream
the sheen too
in cloud land
roaming
ghosts of ourselves only better
in a strange kind of weather
beautiful and elusive, with flight so close at hand
singing with the grounded birds, the rainbow bands,
whispering like the rains
our cumulo refrains.
mary angela douglas 9 august 2022
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