The sky today moves quickly,
low, creeping,
clouds flit by skimmily,
like chinese glass,
on blue silk, plush down,

baby ducks, lemon spikes, meringue’s
soft peaks, twirled –
moving into out-of-frame,
briskly cascading, rotating there:

clouds on a carousel, over my head,
in rapid sky movement.

I thought to see
the world through the eyes of a child,
was a figurative saying.

Instead it’s literal.

Adjust your focal length
to that of a child;
it’s a broader, less focused stare.

Now
observe the sky, it flattens, comes closer,
you’re big,
the clouds are all
you want them to be,
right there at the very tip

of your nose:

at night you bang
you head on Andromeda.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013