Cloud Stones
The blue sky holds within reach
a cloud infested lining
full of insolence and incest.
Sometimes things that sparkle
hold a journey at its center,
crisp and bright, wrinkled and angry
and the dead are not always worried.
There are days they study their hands,
their bones both blue and clear.
Self Indulgent, Full, Dark and Bright
We who eat of this dank dark and rummage near the sea
and litter with betrayal and silence,
pervert the strength in wings of gulls,
the claws of hawks, the hard shell of ants on parade,
dance and sing and throw confetti,
color rivers green, build hillsides of aspen and pine,
draw feathers and fire, and separate sunlight
into sky and water to allow the rain to come.
Don’t bother us. We have much to finish,
can’t you see this truth?
Michael Brownstein
