Day 83 of 100 Poems/100 Days

A Cloud Shaped Like Her

From this height,
the city is an anthill,
and the oxygen light.

I see her,
strolling on the sidewalk,
her child by her side.

I step off the ledge,
body curls up like a fist,
into a cannonball,
to drop into her thoughts.

I won’t die if she sees me,
if she runs up to me,
and cradles my head,
and blows into my mouth,
to refill my belly.

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