If only you had time to linger in repose
lying flat on your back
engrossed by a moving Rorschach
paying rapt attention
to puffs of white cotton rolling by,
an undulating lava lamp
gliding along like sleepy amoeba.
Tinted spears of sunlight
stream through amorphous shapes,
profiles coalesce, a smiling
Teddy Roosevelt, slack-jawed
Churchill and a diabolic Genghis Kahn.
A flotilla of animals comes into view,
a squat bull frog, emu and kangaroo.
Whole continents unfold,
Italian boot; is that
probing finger of
Iridescent herringbone clouds, a steely
grey penumbra forecasting a fulminating
tumble of potatoes from above.
Bolts of crackling light, voice of a
disgruntled divinity, a cryptic message
as beseeching as a Cherokee brave’s
smoke signals summoning a blood
brother to a menacing war party.
When the sky is beheld in all its
encompassing splendor, you may sense
the presence of those who have gone.
Your one way conversation may leave
you wondering if they get your drift
and look forward to your arrival.