when did you know you were becoming a cloud? tuesday was full of holes. i woke up dizzy, steading myself by leaning against every door frame. the water left my body in a steady column of mist. a dumbweighter rigged up to the sky. steam from each finge tip. tendrils. rivers run backward. i ached all over. i had chills & i laid on the floor of the living room trying to think of who to call to altert them of my changing state. i felt my voice dispersing too. each word becoming a droplet of water. oh! all the poems i've missed in a rain storm. oh! my teeth scattering towards heaven. i missed the boundaries of skin & dirt. i missed the way i used to trust a beam of sunlight. to this day we are not sure what triggers the shift from body of flesh to body of mist. in both i was bored & aloof. looking down, i rename all the streets in everyone's hometowns. this one is tree top this one is swingset & this one is femur. if someone really missed me they would have sent me a ballon. i wouldn't have been able to read the message but as the object passed across my face i would know it quavered with human songs. instead, i brace for airplanes. cut me through with urgency. carry another body towards a new hunk of earth. really, there is very little movement. clouds do not kiss. we do not sleep or shake hands. we do not miss each other. next time i rain i hope it falls all over the face of a previous lover. i hope i snap his umbrella & his clothes stick to his skin & he looks up & cannot help but think of us.