Monologue of a Cloud

[Lykren]

You were an inconstant source
of gentle heat in those days,
days I could have fished
for memories, forming
years like patterned cloth
threaded through with emptiness.

The bright, disparate colors
of our thoughts were inelegant
mostly amateur dancers. Knees
bright pink from kneeling down
on hardwood floors now and then
rose to perform a task, perhaps
one of the twelve labors
of Hercules.

This is the time to finish
all old remembrances, neatly
snipping the bow after once tying it,
to forget the discord and
the human amity of children.
Black as night, night itself
appears without notice;
but this is summer after all,
and we are not visitors
easily surprised by strange customs.

The stars are okay with us,
we never knew them to let us down,
though they never did us favors,
either. Down by the creek,
they jump and hover in the water
between water-striders and rocks,
and if we went to go and pick
them out, we would surely drown.

Love then isn't so safe;
winter keeps us in with its hands
and if spring lets us out
once in a while, it's only
to give us a taste of freedom.

[cacian]

''monologue of a could'' is an interesting concept. just the other day I wrote a poem about a cloud and how pure it is.
I like the last stanza.
love is what it is safety is nothing to do with it what is you or I. personality is what I mean. safety depends on you first.