When I was a child, I interpreted the sky
as an open canvas, my own.
As the only member of its audience,
my museum of the growing mind.
Children will notice the majesty of possibility
in changing color, imaginations lost
in the shapes of saturated clouds.
Innocent minds wandering again and again
in the desire of journeys ahead.
A mind lost is a mind to be found.
And in mystery we our find answers.
And grayness abounds in the sky.
What I am I?
Nothing to be found at the present time.
Here is your knowledge without question,
Here is your choice without understanding.
And the cloud is an i without a me.
Community of pain with no solidarity.
Delicate minds saturated with thought
and nowhere to look but down.
We all thirst to join our sky.
May the clouds burst forth in random storms.
Nowhere to look but up.