There are clouds on the move to
the end of their edges, close
to the end of their own shapes.
Frayed where nothing was ever
woven, they unravel what no one wears.
Despite their large size,
they’re too light to carry.
Your arm would push through them like a sleeve.
Never contained, they still hold the threat
of a downpour, a deluge, over your head.
Without a word, clouds direct
where you’re going. And each turn shows
Kevin Irie has recently published poems in Arc Poetry Magazine, Vallum, The Malahat Review and The Dalhousie Review. His book, Viewing Tom Thomson, A Minority Report (Frontenac House), was a finalist for The Acorn-Plantos People’s Poetry Award and The Toronto Book Award. He lives in Toronto.