ManicDDaily

A Round of Cloud

The moon’s a round of cloud this morning,
the milkweed cloud strands–
what’s rock is wisp; what’s fine immense;
everything becomes its other–frost sparking
the fields–everything being
what it truly is, sometimes.

It tells me
that what I think is big is small; that what I discount, counts,
and I can’t help but notice, that even on this calmest of days,
stalks shift, spores waft, the clouds traverse
with footless continuity the blue,
and there, at the farthest edge
of my hearing, a stream
runs on.

It tells me, I tell myself,
that I must change my life.

But immediately after this telling,
I despair–
knowing that the moon, the grass, the milkweed,
don’t really care what I will or not–
they won’t pat some special spot
upon my head, send me particular caresses
of even breezy encouragement,
and change–the idea
that I can–feels
like my own cloud puff.

I sit down, slightly slumped,
when  a crow caws, raucous,
and me, being thoroughly human,
find commentary, a taunt–
but also something to hold to–
hope–
as if nature, in its kindness,
were sending me a sign,
knowing that I speak squawk
so much better than
moon, cloud, milkweed,
knowing that I may need
dark wings.

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Here’s a second poem written thinking about Eugenio Montale after Grace’s prompt on With Real Toads.  I don’t know if I can post two for the prompt, so may link it up to Real Toads Open Link Night. 

I’ve actually been writing a lot this weekend!  (And may end up posting more than I should.)   Trying to avoid all the things I am supposed to be doing!  Thanks as always for your support and encouragement.  Also, please, if you have time, consider checking out my new book Nice or any of my old books.