The Sea of Clouds
It is not about holding and letting go any more,
and I do not even care about how much time has flown between us.
Lucky sight-seers can always see the sea of clouds,
and they outnumbered themselves when they climbed the mountain.
The dazzling clouds that a younger me admired and touched
on the mountaintop had many names and forms,
and now they are clouds, flying low in my mindscape.
They had their days, their libertine tentacles blooming,
so bold and clear, so ingenuous and unartful, they swelled up,
and the closest one was lost in its whiteness.
An awesome fear that I could never have imagined
came like a beauty, tangible before I called out a name
to make sure the one standing by me was still there,
but with the sea of clouds something was gone forever.