CLOUD WATCHING
by Car Simione
One comes out
of many. I've passed
time this way, watched
a leaf propose
its descent, elongating
thought until it's long
enough to pull through day.
Sun in its usual
placement. The eye
climbs then crosses
and climbs again
to take it in. I won't
think of it, how stale
air clips the buds
to ground. From this
position a tree
crops the sky,
a branch completing
endless phrasing. I forget
for a moment where
I am. Someone
calls this imagination
or beauty was offered
to me once, is what
I want to say
while my eyes
translate the matte
blue, the river
too which plays
quietly its instrument
by ear. In the background
all is returned to distant
noise and blur. I scrub
the light from my eyes,
stand and walk the length
of the city park then slink
down the hill to the bank
where one ship guides itself
to shore. A thought
eases itself away—
it's true I think
the distance becomes
more unintelligible
distance, a white slip
snagging on sky.