You Cannot Be Cirrus
Sometimes, when they grow bored
of their usual recreational activities -
making love to the pine-scented mountaintops,
urinating into the great lakes,
windsurfing on the billowing sails of themselves,
or simply reclining
in the blue hammock of an afternoon,
scratching the occasional itch with the tip
of a steeple -
the clouds look down to watch the people.
It fascinates them to see
how such transient vapours;
transpirations – these little breaths
fogging up the otherwise clear
windows of infinity -
can take on such realistic shapes,
how they can be so solid, and yet…
ever-shifting.
