Walking down the road
a blowsy October day,
moving fast under weak rays
in and out, for warmth.
Overhead clouds race:
a herd of workers catching
the six pm train on Friday,
eager to start the weekend.
Looking straight up
I rose a little, and began
flowing with the clouds,
flew, charged, raced, rolled
with them, my legs
two tails on a kite.
Does anyone see me;
lady in the yellow house
with red flowers,
family with the pine
like a one-armed cactus?
A car approaches and
looking to see it, land
as if a practiced fairy
smooth and light on a petal.
If you ever wonder
what goes on with clouds
blowsy October days
I can tell you . . .
they are laughing.
