I let it y

a wispy puff
scarcely enough
to care about
yet dear as
breath itself
a lump in my throat hardens
as it oats away from me
who feels every emotion
that it cannot
barely being
it utters
I am distressed to see it
soft and insubstantial
meander
and lose its way
among coquettish winds
already dissipating in the bright sun

I am thinking it wasnt much of a thought
a fragment of a feeling
too long bottled
poorly formed

expecting to see it vanish
and half wishing for its fragile death
I savor the fruit of failure
but it hovers over you
darkening and swelling
suddenly billowing into space
growing heavy and expectant
meeting a reection in your eye
it nds at once an open eld
then the miracle--
it rains.
Cloud