Clouds

Lying prone

on the green knee

of the hill behind

the house, the world

of humankind

disappeared

The strength in the clouds faded

like a drop of milk in a pond,

like a thought or a dream

when awakened by the ticking

of a leaking spigot.

And my eyes closed.

I was free from that place,

those clouds, time itself …

The smoke after the candles

were snuffed clung to the face

of the Virgin, restoring her

from French to Palestinian.

Until the whitening of the cathedral

was complete and changed her

back to her original gothic pallor.

The strength in clouds only lasts

until the lightning blasts the pines

into fiery candles.

On that day however,

as I lay flat in the fox tails

and barbed oat-grass,

and savored the song

of a meadow lark,

the only reminder

of the world just over

the brow of the hill

was a mockingbird

mimicking the jingle

of the afternoon

ice cream truck.