Clouds

You remember sky-blue trades,

and I see the cirrus clouds

watercolor the sky 

like a brush adding water, 

tilt, and spin.

For added effect, a pastel

extends diffusion; from a cloud 

to a skull, then piercing through the eyes, 

to a bird-like face, then an owl, 

and finally to eyes alone 

searching for us. 

Whatever we say has an effect 

in this cool air, this right echo, 

this sky-blue trade offering

all the joy of a universe above 

interested in you and me, 

wondering what we do 

below the clouds.    

I’m waiting for the chicken patty 

to grill below the deck 

overlooking the shade garden— 

cool tonight, well-watered, 

and resting above the light 

like hope I will remember 

the chickadees’ two-note peep 

when I hear it. Sometimes

they just stare at the sky.