2050

Poem By William Jackson

like a cloud
i change shapes
cumulus, nimbus,
feathers and cottons

i mirror myself on a pond
and begin to like myself

the reeds look at me
with disdain
and the rocks there
speak ill of me

no matter how beautiful
i am
be it the shape of David
or of Narcissus

always everything i am
what i have
they claim them to be owned by the wind

they say the wind makes me
the wind unmakes me and i am left
with nothing
but just the illusion of a cloud

doubt, i now have them and i am lost
in an island without a name

like a cloud i wander
higher than the cliffs and friend of the sun

the wind claims me and still i am nothing

there is no use for all these
i have loved the wind and learned to live with its daft
i love the wind and its song
its distance and its intimacies with my hues

but with the wind i am nothing i have none
all of them disbelieved my right to be myself

i am wandering and wishing upon the stones
i fall

i am rain i am the water in the gutter
i flow
searching for the place where i can be myself

distinct like a mole on a cheek
there is no wind to claim my shape and color

sad, i am still nothing, as empty as a hand opening
pleading for space and air, i am still nothing.

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