finding shapes in clouds

i like the cold
condensing breath,
breathing out my window at night
crouching, pitiful and hidden.

i make shapes
with my clouds.
a pirate ship,
a horse,
a plane.

they are all ways to go farther.

my legs can't go fast enough
beat down on the pavement
close my eyes
whirl my arms
and i have not taken off yet.

my mind, though, leaps from the edge.
i've jumped into the river
and i can see my body exploding
and i'm finally absorbed into
something bigger.

i think about these things
when i'm walking in the cold pouring rain
and my feet carry puddles and i
catch a glimpse of my spirit trying to escape.

i always inhale it back in.

we can't go yet.