The Ghosts of Clouds
In the whole 15 minutes of unmediated time
The vast continent of clouds approaches,
Never arriving, giving out its tentacles
Threatening to twist thoughts into shadows,
Instead little corals and doughnuts part company,
Scud and turn porous filigrees in their wake
Once shells, now carousels
And finally ghosts, the ghosts of clouds.
If my heartbeat slowed, it was reluctant,
If my mind cleared, it was under protest,
If the wet patch on the trampoline seam
Reminded me that time for me was time
Only for Art, only for Holiday,
Only for me, only me.
The last seconds of recorded time,
Mind long gone, set off like the clouds
To turn base desires into golden webs of crafted ideas
And action, always action.
The ghosts of clouds.
Sunday 10th March 11.40 am.