It’s clouds’ illusions I recall
I really don”t know clouds at all…–Joni Mitchell

above the cotton
thick as in the best duvet
and I have to trust the moment
as I try to see through them
moment and cloud
into their hearts to discover
how they are made
and of what they consist
as they form this blanket
that is not a comforter
at all but rather disturbing
in its opaqueness its impenetrability

I rest my head against the pane
of thin glass that separates us
the droning engine vibrating
my face but not the clouds
impervious to our passing
showing none of the anxiety
I’m trying not to feel as I long
to see some patchwork of land
some green and gold grounding
reassurance that all is well below

But we are shrouded muffled
socked in and flying on a wing
and a pilot’s skill and I’m left
staring into a field of cotton
miles and miles as I wait
for some breakthrough
a breath to take that is not
held in suspense tightly
in my chest consider how
I could almost reach out
and fist their cotton
like state fair spun sugar
lift it to my lips.