White Clouds


I see the towering white clouds
through the open window
flung wide as a gate
to the infinite blue sky.

So, who let the goats out?

The light breeze lifts a kite
to a lofty altitude
where it shudders and spins.

The mountainous clouds
drift by slowly as white
epilogues-not white
lies,
but epilogues
in the making,
not judgmental,
not just yet,
just there.
Catching my stare,
The clouds ask,
"what? what?"
I realize clearly
I'm not ready.

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