The clouds remember
the taste
of every bird
that ever flew through them,
each airplane,
each drop of rain
from every storm,
the sizzle of lightning
and the melancholy meat
of thunder.
I have tasted
every cloud
and lived above
their absent spaces.
i.
I walk on stilts.
ii.
I am a giant.
######
Mason Shreve has lived most of his life in rural Indiana. He writes things. He almost always has a beard.