Poem: March 18, 2019

Clouds

I painted clouds
on my daughter's bedroom ceiling
with a sponge, making
random, stippled shapes
I hoped would inspire her
to imagine
the transient forms
we search for
on the warm, idle days
we tell ourselves
we enjoyed when we were younger-
the faces of old women,
mountain tops,
a dancing giraffe,
or the splash from a dolphin's tail.
I hoped to recreate
the surprises we discover,
the wispy treasure we find,
when we look up at another world
from just the right angle.
But that was 10 years ago,
and I find that the effort
has produced
diminishing
returns,
given how static the shapes are,
and the room converted
most days
into an office or guest room,
and besides, I wonder
if this has all been a dream.
I've noticed how rarely we bother
to look up.