from Cloud Diary

Every day there’s my window. The sun is an orphan star. I once

painted clouds passing behind the sun—Impossible, right? Oh

great engine. Weather’s my alibi. As an American I like to find

things to like. Today a fluffy cloud hogs the window, white with a

black center. Every so often there’s a dark middle I fall into. When

I climb out it’s a new day, briefly.

*

Panic fixes things, a conviction about what’s gone wrong. Better

late. Better never. Better waxing than waning. Use short phrases:

no, not now. Is better good? Better is good. What does better for

you? Glue works wonders, some pathos. Chitchat.

*

This is the way they saw the moon, a rocket in the eye. A new

frugality in the wings. What was that like, the sky before contrails?

A mechanical bird turned a blind gaze. She never felt at home at

home, planted among green fortifications. And don’t you forget it,

sang the airwaves. Above a Parisian bridge some clouds assembled.

Marry me, they said, and all my books.

James Haug is author of twelve books and chapbooks, most recently My Team Hates Friday, from Press Brake, Riverain, from Oberlin College Press, and Three Poems, from Factory Hollow Press. He publishes Scram Press and drives a van for Riverside Industries.