Born with the clouds
A droplet in your mother’s azure eye
Watching the undulates roll by
Amidst sparkling castellanus
A lone cumulus, the ‘normal’ one
In the middle on its own
Too high for stratus, too low for cirrus
Too low for contrails.
Say it: cumulus humilis!
Not really fast.
And a lot.
Shooting up towards the stratus
If the not stars, at least the cirrus!
Like congestus, with a destiny
Depression, breaking you down, fracturing
Nothing is right, and you can’t find the rhymes
You can’t find the clouds
Contrails reach out.
Hard to say, easy to judge
Big like fudge, sky-terror but gentle nature
Leader of clouds, enemy of planes
Below, once a drop in the ocean
Now in motion to something great
Until you… precipitate
Ready for the next evaporation
Shadowy white from faraway planes stream
You can only look on and wait for the sea to dream
Of a cloud.
© Shakira Dyer