It felt like I could touch the clouds.
The clouds moved as willowy wisps
In the Canadian evening sky.
White lines zipped into
And out of my line of sight.
Yellow strands of grass, weathered by
Thaw, freeze, and wilt,
Littered the landscape.
Mechanical carriages whipped past
Carrying passengers with far too many dreams.
Half-asleep, I could only think,
I can almost touch those clouds.
Five miles outside Calgary,
Away from family,
I saw a baby-shaped cloud,
Possibly a reflection of a life ahead
Or an experience I once had.
A few miles later,
A heart-cloud came into view,
Dissipating as I neared it.
Did that tell of future Love
Or present Care?
On a bus traveling three hours north,
I feared for, wondered when, and hoped how
I would get to touch
Those wispy clouds
That gazed at me so.
I had believed they would not
Melt through my fingers
As they do
The eagle's wings and soul.
Then I realized the veridic,
It was like the fantastic,
Yet somewhat real.
I felt like I was close to touching these clouds,
So I smiled.
Then, I shut my eyes,
Condensed tears streaming down my cheeks,
And dreamt on
Till I reached home.
©2020 by Ayo Okikiolu.
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