THE CLOUDHERD'S SONG
Never having done anything ever but watch
and never having actually watched anything,
never having attended to anything but cloud
and never having touched one or learned
its numbers or colors or rightful names
(except once on the slopes above Darjeeling
I wore out into the morning and breathed you in,
mother of atmosphere, green air,
eternity, vagrant, the monsoon
had brought you and I took you entirely in)
I call you cloud and call myself yours.
Robert Kelly
Posted over on Nicolle Peyrafitte
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