That’s just like what a cloud would do:
to feather into marshmallow
or popcorn with butter highlights;
to coast on thermals and billow
into shapes large, larger, largest;
into a beast hurling lightning
drawing the four winds into storm,
these changeable clouds so fickle.

Sailing for days on quiet seas
in vast armadas shadowed blue,
the stratocumulus species float
silent against an opaque hue.
The gray-mare squalls on distant swells
approach jellyfish clouds -content
dew-point aerosols stirred by wind-

galloping in with hoof-beat flash:
horseback giants blacken the sky.
Witches race below the ruins
before the crumbling towers fall.