Because something in being
cries out to make sense
Because something in being
cries out to make sense
Wondering why
wet sand sticks
but wet rocks don’t, I
thought I’d ply my
scientist father-in-law.
He’ll know, I thought.
But then, No,
I thought,
I won’t.
For gain of the knowledge of that
will mean loss of my pleasure in this.
Give me the taffy of sunlit unknowns!
A six-foot cloud has stolen my sun.
Such a cloud shouldn’t last too long,
but miraculously does, being
a string of clouds
lined up with the wind.
Who’d stretch a cloud a mile
to wreck up all my sky?