This jar made of glass and heavy with cloud
throbs to the touch
like a deer I have startled it.
Heartbeats press into the palm of my hand.

I watch it as if it were a movie
keep an eye on its clouds
see how a forest of them turns sharply into sky
then into portraits
which hang deep inside cumulus form.

Actions occur in silence
a tight lid holds conversations well
but there isn't much to tell --
words are just air with meanings.

Untouchable syllables
ooze through skin, sentences pass into fingerprints.
Rain begins to fall.

I see my dream of snails inside each drop of rain --
one million snails in the garden.
With the morning light approaching
I stand with bare feet on the path
as they ride my toes as hills.