the clouds are no different than the scrolls for prophets
the telling of time,
or the secrets of life.
cumulonimbus, stratocumulus, cirrus.
if you stare long enough at the white of the star,
a twinkle in the sky,
it may transform before your eyes into a dancing angel.
ocular mishaps, or magic?
if the wind patterns that govern the rumbling skies,
butterfly’s wispy wings,
or elegance of a stray hair,
lend to me their intelligence
i hear the following:
let the flow move through you, with you
it is your eternal dance partner.
i think of science not a coincidence
but a messenger for curiosity and appreciation for life
beauty in existence