Shapes

[iPenguin]

What say you, I cried, O dollop of cotton?
You in your intangible transitory imagination
What do you contain of destiny?*
What say you of the past?
Or are you merely the romance of grassy lovers
Content with uncertainty, fleeting and ephemeral
The shape of things to come, unseen by one
Yet so plainly revealed to the other
The elephant in the newly painted blue room
Coming between them already, even as it changes
Dissipating into nebulous vapor
A wisp of a dream that was once a future
Blending into the deepening shades
And is gone forever.