Let's say—at first,
upon
waking—his mind
was a mass
of just—
nondescript,
never-
ending clouds. Then—
came a little sound.
Quick—
what was the
French word for clouds?
Suddenly—
nuages,
thick, clotting
lemon-gilded
commencing—
rolling,
dancing—perhaps
heliotrope-
dappled—surprisingly
callously
gave way—to larger,
less-
wonderful words,
clumped
into far more
familiar
Germanic sequences—each cadencing
with the electrified thud—of
everything!
that sounded so pretty
a whisper ago,
now just sounding
pretty—out
there
and off base.
