The air moves. The most still air
Moves all the time, moves it all
From there to here—there is no
Shift that does not come for us,
The air moved to make more room
For us, for this, for more time,
More air come from there to here.
Here we are. And here we are,
And here is the air, and there
Are the bright clouds, or the clouds
We can’t see yet, spun by light,
Blooms of the air on their way.
They will get here. Here they are,
And now, you see, the air’s moved.
You wished it would. Or you wished
It would not. It did. It’s air.
Thursday, July 23, 2020
Bright Clouds
