I am the midwife of clouds
stratocumulus, cirrus, nimbus
that’s nonsense of course
I’m just a baby
invented for this poem
everyone hand out cigars!
my bones, thin as cobwebs
my skin, light as spiders
my bones, light as spiders
my skin, thin as cobwebs
my life a net
for flies and hope
push the midwife says





Thinking Birds


oh sure I’m a tree
and wink without eyelids

without eyelids, I’m a river
I’m all onomatopoeia

kazang! it’s philosophy
coming from everyone at once

like a ballgown worn by the sky
hey what would it be like if the stars

were eyes
and everywhere was looking

you said
and I said, it already is and

onion rings
onion rings?

yeah I need some
help with dread




so let’s talk about bears:
they are big and often brown

like trees?
yes but ‘sticky’ on the inside only

now imagine a tree filled with eyelids
like leaves?

like birds: it’s philosophy
if I were a bird who only plucked

those birds
who didn’t pluck themselves

and I plucked myself then
hope both exists and does not

and all bears think of sleep while
eyelids fall


an onion ring begins and ends with itself
an onion ring ends when I eat it

an onion rings ends when you eat it
an onion ring begins and ends with itself




Photograph © John Rutter

Portrayal: A Double Portrait