NEW FEATHERS ANTHOLOGY
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Picture
Photo by Henry Dick
No-Self
Maria Berardi
 
Paying attention to clouds, finally,
attending to them
faithfully, properly,
 
to their eternal dissipation, 
their always-formingness;
never quite formed, 
 
never, certainly, incarnated.
Nothing so heavy-handed.
No hands.
 
And then there’s us.
Temporary, too,
mostly made 
 
of water, too, 
just a different kind of time,
a heavier grasp.
 
Not these blessing gestures of rain,
soft dark fingers 
sowing seed.
 
Not these extravagant 
imaginings we pin 
on them, the clouds, 
 
as they imagine themselves 
into being, not this ease 
in ceaseless change, 
 
coming coalescing undoing undone.
And the keenest thing
also the most gentle,
 
to open, extend, disperse, 
disappear, effaced, 
exultant, in the unbroken blue.
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