“I could be a cloud,”
Said he, reaching
Up to the sky
As if to grab fistfuls
Of the white stuff
“I could float across the air
All day long,
Above trees and buildings
Not thinking about nothing.”
Longing leaked from his words.
“I could see everything
I could block the sun
I could shade a traveler
I could sit atop mountains
And still just be a-floating.”
His eyes held on
To the great expanses of white and grey
With envy and hunger
“My only chore
To pour
Out buckets of rain
Over all the world
While people ran inside
Or grabbed umbrellas.”
He dropped his hands
In defeat by reality
For the clouds still clung to the sky
And he still stood on the sticks and dirt
“I could be a cloud.” Said he, glowering
At the dirt and sticks.
For in everyone one of us
Somewhere
In the back corners of our dreams
Is the wish to be able
To float and do nothing
And still be big enough
To block the sun.