Clouds

A dizzy dance of vapor mists,
And my heart sinks, painted grey,
Even as droplets off wind-gusts play,
In rain sprinkled grass I rest.

What calls this surge to leave the beds,
Of pools, ponds, lakes, and oceans,
Cumulus over sky in endless motion,
And weep o'er faraway lands instead.

In nimbus Rorschach forms of white,
Or in streaming cirrus vapor currents,
Like a living tapestry of firmament,
Plays imaginings and fools my sight.

Then waters reclaim what they have lent,
Drawing mists, drops, snow, and hail,
Even as clouds toward horizon sail,
Their very selves condense, are rent.

Clouds, like stories, like life and death,
Lovely in time, but the moment fleets,
Winds blow clouds, like backyard sheets,
The stuff of dreams, or ghosts, or breath.