CLOUD HEAVEN

In the Heavens, this mornings' storm
made clouds into crowds of dark gray
monsters conquering a new blue sky.
There was a series of battles as solid banks
of dark force rushed forward, magically
swallowed in a fixed horizon.

White cloud bodies hurried into
this piece of swept sky, then stopped,
flattening in the end of storm wind. They
drifted toward each other finally merging,
then separating in frayed ribbons
without tears, drama or sound.

Smaller, puffed ones charged past
those thinned drifters for hours, until I see
fat suited commuters with life or death
missions. In this waning day, clouds
have soft colors in tinted changes
floating across a sunset sky.

Heaven is a word describing
a place where change is
silent, where watchers, like me
know what appears solid
is not, what appears static is not,
but what is peace is, can be seen,
just by looking up.