Life’s Full of Accidental Extras

A mess of gossamer
Clouds resembling trout milt
Or the disorganized

Webbing of black widows
Are busily being
Ignored by the people

Living their lives below
Or crossing overhead,
Leaving clouds of their own

Like straight-ruled lines of chalk
Blurred palimpsestuously.
If pale clouds turned vivid,

Violent chartreuse shades
Interspersed with burning
Blues and cochineal streaks,

Then maybe they’d matter.
Then they’d be auroras
Photographed for prizes,

But they’re just white vapor
In a world full of such.
They’re background. They’ll disperse.