All the way from the White Rose City of Pennsylvania, Heath Brougher brings us this poem that drifts between transience and transcendence to awaken a new understanding of what it means to be in the world and of the world.
I will be a cloud in due time.
One day, long after my viscera
has been lulled to dust and laid
into the land, a random breeze will
scoop up the dirt I am made of
and ingest my formal Sentience
into the guts of a wind which will then
raise it high into the sky to be absorbed
into a cloud—and then—finally—these elements
will find themselves as one before being torn apart
again by the omnipresent stamp of The End
that tailgates all of Life. For a brief instant,
though, that cloud and I will be as one.