Pagosa Springs Artists

March of the Clouds

Across a blue ocean
Of summery air,
I saw a flotilla
Of clouds pass by here.
Or was it a herd
At a gallop through  sky,
Oblivious to the dreamer
On a fantasy-ride?

I counted the forms;
They kept coming on.
I named all the shapes,
But they changed and swarmed.
I reached for one billow;
My timing was wrong.

They don’t see the birds
Who play  hide-and-seek.
They don’t see the ponds
Which mirror their speed.
They don’t see that aphids
Migrate in their keep.
They don’t see jet planes
Which pierce them, don’t bleed.

I lay back, dream on
As the clouds march along.
I can’t stop them,  and
They won’t sing my song.
They’re in such a  hurry
They keep moving along.


first published in Flyway



first published in Flyway

also published in FLOOR OF THE SKY Chapbook

©2000 Bonnie Manion


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