I used to think that the clouds went to bed at night
When I saw them softly wandering towards the horizon at sunset
I imagined they gathered together
In a heap
On the horizon
Until morning came
When it was time to stretch
and pull away
For another day wandering the open sky
Fat white sheep
Roaming over the hills
Or ragged drifters
Hanging above towns
Ganging up together
Or sailing out to sea
Doing whatever clouds do
When they would begin the slow drift back
to where the earth meets the sky
To pile in huge heaps
and bedded down
On the edge of the world.
I used to think
When a plane was flying overhead
The sound was the sharp metal scraping the smooth blue sky
Leaving sharp white scars on skin.
Did it hurt the sky when a plane scraped by?
Could the sky heal?
I’d watch the white trails
As they changed from hard thin painful lines
to softer plumes
Dispersing and disappearing
Until the sky was a perfect smooth blue again.