Cloud Boy

When the cloud boy fades to night, you won’t even notice.

He won’t go out in a thunderstorm, or a blizzard, but instead in the drizzle

of his mother’s tears; a puddle drowning the only post-it note he left

behind; his ink-heart words bleeding thick plumes of smoke.

That same smoke that clouded his mind – 

sent him soaring into the sky 

in search of shooting stars - his next high. 

But when the comets he caught were other people’s wishes –

heavy, almost like heaven, knowing everyone’s sins is 

plummeting. Sinking, anchored with a burdened heart, 

crashing on earth too foreign for weightless soles. 

The cloud boy simply gave up his wisps of wind 

in his wish to lift. And so descends. 

He chose not to go by pill or pellet but 

instead by lining burdens in his pocket, sinking 

into lonely tides against a night so full of wishes 

that darkness seemed to cease. 

They say you won’t even notice the cloud boy die. 

After all, only telescopes can see a supernova.