The sky is a swathe of murky milk and grey, clouds on clouds on a child’s mobile toy dangling just out of reach in a haze of infant memories.

This a random thought/poem that I scribbled down sometime during winter break (if you can scribble something down on an iPhone… tap-speedily-down just doesn’t have the same ring to it) when the clouds were doing something interesting (as they do most of the time, but I only notice every once in a while, which makes it seem special to me)… I thought I might expand it to a longer poem, but I kind of also like it as it is.


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