Almost Without Metaphor

the clouds this morning

tinged with pink and bluegrey,
cross two coinciding mountains
they move deliberately in a swift west wind
not like anything but water vapor
held by hydrogen bonds (the colder the better),
they glide suspended over pine,
hemlock, oak, and spruce.
being nets of misted h-2-o. the pine,
hemlock, spruce, and oak
will drink to satiation if graced by clouds
meeting more frigid air and rain falls
not like anything but clear liquid
that has found itself in a bowl

Jim Culleny