What of these soft and fluffy

What of these soft and fluffy

Clouds that hang

Like the cotton wool balls

A child would glue into a diorama

The edges frayed, bleeding into the blue

An impressionist painting of a sky

Barely recognisable as a landscape

Unless the fine focus

Is readjusted

Breaking the spell of containment

Realism has the power to displace

A ripple before it becomes a wave

Simply put is not an easy explanation

To begin with,

Many are the ways of constant failure,

To record the smallest change

Demands precision

When with every precious moment

The possibility of success

Is influenced to a degree

By an untethering of the need to understand

The reason,

We feel more comfortable

With an explanation

And a children’s guide to meaning

Than to any abstract notion

Where dark matters enough

To bend the apple’s fall

In favour of a wide spectrum

Of full-bodied, quantum mechanics

Escaping the clutches of gravity

A stampede of imaginary proportions

A flotilla of gunships

A Unicorn, a parsnip, an elephant

Marching with Hannibal

An army of animals

Shapeshifting particles

Impartial arrangements

Elemental changes

Floating free, in a moment of discovery