A cotton-candied sky
slow, taffy-pulled apart
in a case of Sunrise v. Sunset.
The wife and I relished
our morning smokes
as they became afternoon puffs
while a solitary piece of heaven
floated quietly down
and without premeditation,
landing between two cars
and making a throne of our street,
we the subjects of the Sky King's Court.

The paper would read
'Cumulonimbus Suicide
Stuns Neighborhood :
A Swan-dive From The Sun'�
as our daughter came home for supper,
cloud innards like cobwebs stuck
to her fingers, rolling it up like gum
and then watching it expand on the table
slowly
a baby cloud birth
right next to the dinner rolls.

Like a tumbleweed snowball
the Sky King bristled down the street
unraveling and dissipating gently,
a pied-piper of dreams
taking our children and adults
with it, following to the intersection
where, unstoppable, a car grill devoured
our little piece of heaven.

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