The arguments of lovers condense in cars,
then fall as windscreen tears.
Speeches cause rainbows.
Wedding guests spatter their chat
like dew on the lawns of parsonages.
It dampens marquees.
All the words ever uttered cloud the sky,
queueing to recycle the waters of Noah.
Baby’s first word
and all of our word-strings, float in the ether
joined to nothing, and fall later –
a kind of drench/snowflake/hailstone karma.
Lies are indistinguishable from promises.
Breathed in and out, elements are reissued
passing themselves off as sisters.
Mizzle is language just hanging about.
Puddles are paragraphs, shopping lists, Notes on Contributors…
We speak the clouds.