altocumulus

Tonight: a bird sky.
High and downy in the wind,
something coming over the mountains,
glancing off the valley town
named after in-between-ness.

Tonight: a plumage on the edge of dark.
Parading over the peaks,
skirting the softness of cut-out trees,
far lights on a slope, night
thinking itself in gentle pieces.

Tonight: cloud-quilt.
Ten thousand beings of cloud
that have a name, but no matter
now. Stare high at what’s reversed, imagine
tumbling upwards as if to sleep.