Cloud Shaped Indentations

There’s a part of a man
Deep inside, rooted in
Ribs and muscular tissue
Between his heart and soul
That longs for the sky.

I crave acquiring the clouds
To put squawking seagulls
To shame, and gain wisdom
From a soaring bald eagle.

I want to sit in peace below
The stars as I learn their names,
Along with the history of how
It was they ignited so brightly.

So I did, and
You’d imagine an explosive
Launch full of fire and smoke;
Lined with sound and fury,
But it was as quiet as a prolonged
Breath: An inhalation deep and determined.

The air entered my nostrils,
Flooding my lungs and flowing
Slowly over my tongue as I tasted
The salt from an incoming tide
That dissipated on the horizon.

The sky was a fluorescent
Blue-green that day. I remember
It distinctly, as it was the first time
I sat upon a cumulonimbus cloud.

I spoke to the stars only to find
Their silence overwhelming.
They were unconcerned with
burning out,
exploding,
or having a horrible Monday.

Another breath took me past
The atmosphere that inflicts
Pain from season to season.
Gazing down at the orb below
Reminded me of a handful of
Smooth stony truths;
Truths unchanged by ticking clocks
Like love,
compassion,
what a day can give and take,
and how profoundly American
A flag on the moon looks in the sunlight
At point-blank range.

The truths that followed
I’ll never tell;
Blast off yourself, and
Peel your eyelids towards
The sun.
Fingers crossed,
eyes
to
the
sky.