The Chloroform Clouds

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The Chloroform Clouds

Here in Wellington two days before Christmas,

The sun kisses geometric rooftops,

And slides its fingers down my back,

Like a master masseuse.

 

Everything seems harbour blue–

The sky, the sea, my eyes–

And I wonder what palate

God was working from today,

And whether these sea grey irises

Were designed for the moment.

 

When I was a child

It was a cosmic mystery,

Glancing at cotton clouds—

And wondering at string,

And Jazz parties in the midst of them.

 

Now young,

Adult,

I know the science,

But I wish.

 

I wish for somber saxophones,

Smooth sliding bass,

And to rest amongst

The chloroform clouds.


© Iain Sutherland, 2013.
Header Image: click here

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