There are clouds on the move to
the end of their edges,
close to the end of their own shapes.
Frayed where nothing was woven,
they unravel what no one wears.
Too large in size,
they’re nothing to carry–
the lightness you’d feel
when you take off a jacket.
they’ll hold a deluge above you,
what keeps your head
bowed. Compels you to look.
Without a word,
clouds direct where you’re going.
And each turn shows
By Kevin Irie
Kevin Irie has published in Canada, the States, England and Japan. He was part of Poem in Your Pocket Day 2020 by The League of Canadian Poets. His new poetry book, The Tantramar Re-Vision, is forthcoming from McGill-Queen’s University Press in 2021.