Clouds As Seen from Beneath the Soul’s Equator

Ever since we sat together

looking up at the sky

describing the clouds

so not to abandon whimsy,

I’ve not stopped looking up.

 

You’re gone now

but not the peace

of those pointless hours

where we put aside

our thoughts

in favor of being.

 

I pointed out an elephant.

You, an umbrella

sheltering a mushroom.

 

Freud said that in the id

contrary impulses exist

side by side

without cancelling

each other out,

that in fact,

there is nothing

in the id which

corresponds

to the idea of time.

 

So could this mean

those random chalk erasures

that lured our imaginations

away from our troubles,

mine old, yours young,

make us two versions

of the very same yearning?

 

The sky is nothing

if not an equal playing field

for no other reason than

it un-shelters us all

with a series of deft smudges.

For this I will always

be grateful.

 

Go ahead, erase my words.

You are enough.

 

8/20/22