A LONGING FOR CLEAR BLUE SKIES.

i
The man who photographs clouds 
watches shapes come and go 
like the slow dissipation of anger.
He knits the icy streaks of cirrus 
into roads 
and maps his future 

but that part of him 
that will not follow 
remains 
           precipitation, on his past.

v
The man who photographs clouds 
captures the spirit of the anvil cumulus 
as he trawls the Nebraska reservations 
stealing souls from the sky
drowning the occupants of his box of tricks 
sealed in acetate 
leaving soul-less clouds to tease 
the Sahara’s of emotionless images 

the processor will look away, 
let the machines do the crying.

iii
The man who photographs clouds 
Takes images of snow 
and ponders the possibilities 
of capturing the same molecule of water twice, 
years apart 
and on different continents.

iv
The man who photographs clouds 
seeks solace in shades of grey, 
uses a grey filter on monochrome film, 
processes, pushes, 
toys with the tones, 
sees his life 
as an index print.

vii
The man who photographs clouds 
turns the camera  
digitally places himself inside his lap-top 
manipulates the image 
re-shapes features 
landscapes the contours 
to his liking 
changes his age by deed poll 
walks back through the lens 
to find himself gone.

ii
The man who photographs clouds 
sees a duck walking like an Egyptian, 
a speedboat with obligatory vapour trail 
and a smiling foetus 
in an up-side-down aeroplane 
on days like this 
he reasons that 
he could do without blue.

vi
The man who photographs clouds 
tears strips from the sky 
folds them into ribbons 
in remembrance 
of those who could not fly.