Birthing

If I could be a cloud shifting shapes forever in the breeze
the sky is calling me and I am falling up, the world
converges on me far below…the sunset colors
me bright salmon like a last hurrah in the
dying day, what would it be like to fake
my death and leave the bill collectors
far behind for Christ to come again
to throw them out of the temple
somewhere high above where
only sea birds know I circle
waiting to become heavy
enough to rain
and all the tiny blades
of grass and jade buds
on the trees would thank
me in their own quiet way as
they look up towards the sun the
father of our world, we escape his
gaze at night but in the dawn he finds us
and life begins again, dream weavers sell your
souls, Nataraja teach us the slow dance and come find
me far out at sea following the way of the fishes in the waves
the wind and the white caps if ever I awake again from this trance
oh but here come the Bracks and Hicks so I’m giving birth to something soon