after Cloud Rise by Betsie Miller-Kusz
Neighbors across the lane ask why
My house has grown this tall—
I tell them clouds live underneath it.
What is there to hide? Floorboards float
up and walls bleed cloud plaster, stair-
cases of clouds obscure the halo moon.
Now, clouds flow in through the night
window, take forms I know to be ghosts.
sometimes they are eye of rain.
wedding veil. rainbow serpent.
white bell. newborn star. mirror
painted with fog. camellias in
a blue jug. swan’s throat just as
it is bowed. immaculate shroud.
At dawn, in pods of cut-glass milkweed,
even the bees are buzzing honey clouds.