In what life do all clouds
coalesce into one
so we must not guess
at their metamorphosis
but see without mesmery
the genesis, the direction
of life indefinitely
reflected wholly in
the open sky?
How to let go of
wailing and seeking?
          
          
Humans seek in vain!
Lost forever in the
dusky gloam of endless tides
pulling us under
to where there is
no being found
ankles tied to
cinder block with
invincible knots.
Everywhere a gangster.
Everywhere a gangster
out to do bad.
No redemption in the heat
for us, no point in trying.
No point.
          
          
Poetry redeems.
The moment I stop believing this,
gone will be all my breaths
across time to the
final horizon where,
motioning towards the edge,
I whisper “Fly.”