Better late than never.

Better late than never.

Above the clouds.

We forget clouds,

Not their essence

How they come to be,

And how the world

Would be without them,

That we understand.

But the complex

Nature of the spritely

Creature.

Their abstractions,

Unbound

Shapes and sizes,

Too amorphous

To hold in memory.

They twist and change

Rearranging ever so slowly

As they go.

Until the tension

breaks.

And they spume with rage,

Jostle and barge

Through disordered,

Wind tossed air.

A full blown charge

An Armada

Of ghostly galleons.

Mushrooming,

Expanding ever higher,

Splitting the atom.

Until,

A long jet of ink,

A thin, sliver

Of dark matter,

Snakes through,

In overlay.

A black, oily slick,

Brings its own organic

Cloud pollution.

And the sky falls in.

Deeper than the ocean

Leaving nothing but

Empty spaces

And wind chasers,

Bottomless holes,

Funnelled

Between the endless

Depths,

Where, even

Hidden among the shallows,

The whisper

Of a squall might

Yet wait.