There wasn't a fiercely loyal
cloud in the sky.
They came and slipped away,
wound up on winds,
shuffling aside for master blue.
It was the nature of things
to move, but not sky,
squatting sky.
Her friend drifted like denied lovers.
He sons found wives of their own
for mothering and debasement.
Her daughters swallowed sons of their own.
Her husbands and lovers
turned into the wind,
and waited for the next generation
to blow into their arms.