If I look really hard,
I can hear the clouds call my name.
They are all one.
There is no way for the naked eye to differentiate
One cloud from the other
and they all smell like snow.
To those that don’t know
that smell is like cold soft air
The kind that climbs down from the stratosphere
And falls weightless
like tiny birds.
They seem to forget what they are
before tearfully releasing back
from which they came.
From which they came.