Once I knew the names for these clouds,
rounded, puffy and rolling.
I rush out the back door
to see them gather in the west
turning vibrant rose and dusky rose and
deeper shades of darkened rose,
and the only word that rises is “oh!”
I remember how I loved the naming.
Now I love the clouds. How they
sow light in the wild blue fields of sky
and invite every dark thing in me
to look up and be part of the beauty
without trying to own it, to practice
loving what is beautiful knowing
for certain it will go.