According To Cloud Formations I Will Spend This Day
in memory of P.M.
lit by crows wherein thinking for a long minute I think
ideas in and out like clouds. As likened to a flight pattern.
That cloud looks like a crow. That cloud looks like an idea.
Yesterday I had to try harder to appreciate everything. I
wondered where the time goes. Tucked in a date book.
Every day gone when it can't be stopped. My going hands
distract; they are papery crows. They would turn every
corner into a neat month of edible days. As likened to a
flight pattern. Clouds pad the sky, are slow. Regally, they
can take any shape, such as of something alive. Real crows
swoop, a lot of little animals must die. It doesn't seem
exactly right. They lived their little animal lives. A clean
towel is a good morning. Coffee with milk. Here are the
ideas: a thick smog of gone days. Please. Lying on a hill
without bitterness. Some free sugar in a bowl. A secret
pity for crows. Our pretty walk before dark. To cloud.
To be clouded. To dissipate. Yesterday I had to try harder
to appreciate everything. It wasn't seeming exactly right.
I had to really want to stay.
by Paula Cisewski from Upon Arrival (Black Ocean 2006)