My photos are out of focus.
I can’t stop taking pictures of clouds.
My clothes are getting bigger,
nights getting longer.
I sleep with four blankets
to keep me from drifting away.
And there’s one pillow under my head,
and one pillow over, to keep things out.
Nights are too long,
filled with bad dreams about being chased,
and falling, and turning to stone.
Places with happy people make me cry.
That’s not normal, you know.
I broke my favorite mug.
My hand dropped it,
and the lighthouse
was in a hundred
pieces. I can’t
pick them up.
I just sit
on the
floor
with
them.
Talking to the Clouds 
Clouds are reservoirs. They cool the earth and make sure we always have enough life-giving water.
Hauntingly beautiful.
thank you
Great collection of images that suggest increasing sense of dissolution….
thank you very much
Not a wasted word in this piece, filled with feeling and superbly chosen, fragmentary images, I am haunted by the mug/lighthouse ending. Brilliant portrayal!
Thank you so much for you comments and kind words!
Like the poem. And I’m not usually one to comment on blogs.
Depression stinks doesn’t it? [have you read anything by Eckhart Tolle?] Loneliness can also be tough, but sometimes it’s good to be alone with the natural world.
Thank you for your kind words, and, yes, depression stinks. I have read Eckhart Tolle, and I do believe very much in the healing power of the natural world. Thanks for stopping by.