Paint Me In Clouds

Paint me in clouds, 

I’ll sit in the tall grass,

idle in body, 

critical in mind. 

If you continue that color scheme, 

I will topple your ladder.

Covering you in those same greys and whites 

of this uncompromising soul. 

Scanning the soaken field, 

the egret wades closer, 

or, for comparison, 

closer than most herons. 

Paint me in clouds, 

I’ll sit under lily pad 

My face; transparent, 

guarded from all who stare. 

Thunder sends a shock, 

delivered near your perch, 

Greys and whites,

watercolors smothering certainty.  

Droplets careening, 

then freezing,

tear through your canvas, 

above my tropospheric cheek.

 The Cornflower blue hue of my iris

Ripped from socket

In turn, I gaze in greys and whites

Firmly gripping your ladder. 

Come down to me, 

you purveyor of honest love, 

before our art

kills us both.

Michael Carney