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.