A poem about imagination and the potential of the possible...

Clouds
(for Chris)

Clouds become circus clowns
And airplanes and parades of
Pink tigers and blue elephants.

I watch as rabbits emerge out of magic
hats
And find the edges of Oz,
Where hearts beat to the rhythm
Of a song about rainbows.

This morning the sky is particularly bright
And free of storms,
Only my thunderous applause
Echoes as I lie here.

For a moment I see a crimson throne
Sun-streaked and dazzling
As though inviting me to sit.