A Cumulus Loom
I used to float
in a sea of sheets
and listen as you whistled
an aqua tune in the shower.
Mornings tinted by
a stream of air
made to modulate,
unwind and become silken thread.
Then a furious storm
split the oak that
shaded our house.
Now, rain splashes my gutters
on a morning so gray
its girders rust,
so starved for rhythm
it strums me
with liquid fingers.
If only I could summon
that rippled air, woven breeze.
swab my ears in the flow
as it rinses away the pull
of tension from muscles,
towels a terry melody
over my hungry body.
How like the clouds
to resemble
pursed lips,
how like the Dawn
to moisten them
as its first blue deed.
