Milky, kitten clouds, lift off the Pacific.
Baja-looking, with southern humidity,
a long procession of silent dancing animals
covering a floating day.
They peek into my well-being,
asking me to be looking.
I look and read clouds in ways
I love but cannot easily explain.
Calling what my heart often finds
difficult is how I come across words
looking for a cage to call home.
Wandering creatures learning
deep internal words
is how we arrived here.
Clouds move, but the sky is still.
Oh, that’s right!
There is a funeral I will not come to.
My own death
invitation suspended for awhile,
but some precious witness
has left us.
Black dresses and hard tears
rolling out of this pervasive
emptiness. Much seems to
happen even when my experience
is slapped together
with vast empty space.