Postcard 7

It's hard to believe
With clouds like they are now
That there is infinite sky beyond
That it isn't layer after layer of
Sodden water vapor cotton blanket
Weighing down the atmosphere
Extending out to the quasars
On days such as this its
Hard to catch one's breath
To pull these molecules
Into one's airways and lungs
To expand the ribs against
The heavy gas that pushes back
It isn't comforting, though
The soporific nature of it
Masquerades as such. If only
One could go with it. Lie down. Let it take you.
But we must pretend, we must
Ignore that which looms above and
Have faith the sun will return
That it still shines, it still remembers us.


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