Unfurl

A steady eye can see it,
the way a cloud blossoms
from its centre,
driven open
from inside.

Simple—
open the valve
to your truest part,
let it fill and move you,
let what is inside
out.

Doesn’t it look easy?
Can’t you imagine floating?
Yet even while unfurling
the cloud is ending—

wind pulling its tail,
air eating its edges.
Death is at its door
from the start.

In this space
between earth and sky,
the here and almost-not,
what moves you?
What will you come apart for?

Knowing nothing of such choices
the clouds watch on,
effortlessly
expanding anyway.