When I was young
and creating the requisite diorama
for school,
I took large cotton balls,
stretching them
until the taught strands
made a diaphanous layer of clouds
to sit atop
a cobalt blue
construction paper sky.

Last night,
my husband and I
stood outside
in the balmy aftermath
of a spring storm,
gazing up
as wispy clouds
raced by,
trying mightily to catch up
to the storm raging ahead.

These thin gauzy clouds
reflected the light
from the city across the river.
Puffy and white
cottony and soft,
transcending time.