looks like an elephant

we make for bad clouds

formless and sinking into one another

hoping to stop the falling

and the rain that doesn’t always fall back

into the water

but instead into our hands that once held

one another until we became mist

blocking our sights but still inflating breath

wet and sputtering

giving back to the sky silently

and then there is the factories that manufacture clouds

and the fires that dye them

and the angels dressed in white

or just drained of life

who will meet us made

and tell us the clouds were never soft

but instead

collapsing always into nothing

that is found in between our fingers

as we try to walk down the board walk

but shift again and again

never comfortable

though we are almost there

trying not to look at the brackets in our face

and finding the sky

giving back to us