Monday, July 29, 2013


I requested that you photograph a cloud outside the window.
You replied with a photograph of my blue sleeve.

The response to my request pleased me; still,
the cloud outside the window was frightfully indignant:

it threw things at the both of us that felt like water
mixed with the feeling that one has when one

is too close to a tuba even tabla in the early morn
or burning one’s very heart with an old match

from a pack leftover
from a failed 
presidential campaign

and he is smiling this candidate
and has no idea of what will soon 
happen but that is no

different than a cloud or sleeve
or what ever may be left

of us and what often occurs
after a terrible explosion
that we must not mention

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