Clouds tell time. Not depiction. I float
upon my back and infinite variables of gray
collapse, enclose, entwine layer upon layer,
into a never repeating permutation of all
that is this moment.

Dust can burn if the fire is hot enough.
All things burn if the fire is hot enough.
I burn in this lake waiting for the rain.
I rake in the day with the sweep of my hands.
I wish a cloud.

I swim across the lake expecting tomorrow
will be nothing like today. Clouds remain
impossible to explain.
            Lake current electric
through the crook of my arm. About me, nothing
hesitates.

A mountain of gold beams through an aperture
within endless grey. Sunset. I have swum across
the lake, through the day. I float between land,
sky, and moment. I turn to return, face the rising
moon, its momentous yoke of stars.