a place - I have
since come to know as -
where the clouds
are made.
It is across these
open fields and
tree-lined knolls
that you can feel
the drafts moving
swiftly over and
carrying invisibly
upward the droplets
to one another.
Building themselves
glorious landscapes
from which we -
given only hope and
dreams and wondering if's -
from which we
find
simple brief respites
from what is truly
lugubrious in our days.
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