way decent day,
the clouds
may look faint
and far away
as abstract concepts
in the head
for which those of us
toiling for bread
underneath them
have neither
the patience, nor
the occasions.
But gaze once again
at their airy nature—
the way their beige
plumages edge
over boundaries
and vanish—
without any interest
or consequence,
and with nothing
to say—into infinitudes
of blue,
and accept
that their silence has
everything to say
about the perfection
of the fraction
of that very same air,
which, up through
the present, you too
have been using.
