Talking of clouds
The responsive, still sustaining pomps for you / To magnify....
—Wallace Stevens, On the Manner of Addressing Clouds
Who says clouds are nothing to speak of?
Allow our sustaining pomps by all means,
whether they keep us or the clouds going.
Under all but a clear sky our music’s contingent.
Their own speech is of shade, sadness, or rain,
storms, tears, fits of depression,
the high lands where poets and dreamers live
on damp air and everyone’s cuckoo.
So much for anvil cloud. Metamorphoses
of cumulus pose the conundrum
of whale, weasel or weathercock
however the wind blows. It’s a poet’s work
to find the right words, under or inside that cloud,
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