Under a billboard at Bathurst and Eglinton
Using nothing but my eyes
I bought some clouds—
Because they were big and self-sufficient
But I bought them too for protection—
Since a friend of mine
Once safely walked this same street
Under similar clouds
They passed over the same sidewalks she passed over
But the past can’t be touched, and you can’t touch clouds
And there’s something wrong inside me
And the clouds might solve it . . .
I bought them also because they’re grey without being depressing—
And slow, but not in a way that makes me impatient
Because having nowhere to be or go
Doesn’t stop them from being or going
They travel like jokes
So I accept them as natural
See how they activate my wit
Without taking credit
Because they ask nothing
And pull me gently away from
The great loneliness
To which no one gets accustomed but the clouds.