When you tell your friend
Look at that cloud!
She probably won’t see it
Like you do
She won’t see its golden left
Catching the November sunset
Or its bluish right
Looking for the moon-rise
She won’t see its grey underside
Getting larger as it gradually comes down
Onto you, like a saucer in a sci-fi movie
The kind they stopped making
It’s the disordered dishes
And the unopened mail
The jumbled bed cover
And the bag that needs to go out
You say, Look again!
And she says,
In a few minutes
After I do these things
But you know clouds
Always moving, always changing
And before she’s done
This one has landed and taken off
And you’re up in the dark blue
Being carried southwest
Higher and higher
To the brilliant evening star
Jim's Writing 