The Nonsense of Clouds
Oh, the absolute nonsense of clouds.
To be an iridescent powdery mist
and float across the ocean,
above and beyond
cavities and chasms,
grand mounds of ethereal green.
No tragedy. No trickery.
No benevolent tests of faith.
Only flight. And every once in a while,
release. Rain. Glorious cleansing rain
lightens the load and once again allows flight,
fluid movement on gossamer winds.
The steadfast lightness,
and blatant abundance
of absolute solitude.
Oh, the nonsense of clouds
and their cohorts, the heavens.
Poem © 1999 Kirsten Campbell, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
This poem was previously published in The Fairfield Review.