till the plane pierces one.

You see the edge of the cloud,

bright and smooth as meringue,

and you think, "What will it feel like,

to hit that wall of white?"

But then, as you do, the white just melts

into a pale grey womb of water and air.

The world below disappears

as you are swallowed

by the sky.

In my dream, I'm in a plane

and I say,

"Oh, Stewardess?

Can I open the window please?

Can I let my baggage

flow out

through the hole

into the open sky?

Can I let the suction of air

pull me out too?

Out over the clouds

in a stream of joy

to fly

and be free?"

And she nods, not at all surprised at my request.

And I jump.

But it's not like it would be in life

I just step out, really

and become permeable, translucent

and diffuse

like a cloud.

And I float above the world I live in

but it doesn't frighten me

because I'm free

in the air

where no one can find me.

I see the people I know, below,

and they are all wondering where I've gone.

They never see that I'm watching overhead

all they see is another meteorological forecast

for rain.

Clouds are really thousands of pounds of water

you see,

waiting to let themselves go,

kind of like birth.

I dream when I'm a cloud

that I grow and grow

collecting moisture from the earth

and the sea

expanding, spreading out

over miles

till I'm huge.

And then,

in a great mighty rush

I give in to myself

to the incredible weight

of those thousands of tons

of moisture I've collected inside myself

and I'm transfigured

from cloud into rain

water giving birth to water

my cloud self

melting like cotton candy

on my tongue

and flowing through me

of me

and plunging

like a diver from a cliff

into a sea of precipitation,

that embraces the earth

in an engulfing passion.

Clouds look so light and fluffy up there,

but in reality

they're incredibly powerful.

When two of them collide

it's more powerful than a nuclear reactor.

Cloud sex

so to speak

is signified with real fireworks,

and overwhelming liquefaction.

When I dream about this, I-

Well, let's just say in my real love life

I feel good if there's a bit of a damp spot

on the sheets.

In fact, my life lately...

it's's pretty much just a damp spot.

Like mildew actually.

Musty, and cold, and funny smelling.

Not like rain.

Rain is so clean, it washes away everything.

Sometimes when it rains

I lose my umbrella on purpose,

or take the long way home,

just so I can feel the water

seeping through the fabric of my clothes

and touching my skin.

One day after work

when I came home

I went into the shower

with all my clothes on.

My boyfriend thinks I'm insane,

but I felt like I'd managed to wash off

all the mildew

of my job

of my life

of everything in that shower.

I just stood under the head and laughed.

Sometimes I don't laugh for days.

It was perfect,

except for hearing about how insane it was afterwards

and "didn't I think I should see a therapist?"

and all.

I just said

"Why not save our money

and buy a shower-massage instead?"

That shut him up.

In my dreams,

when I'm a cloud,

I feel like that shower.

I feel clean, and wet, and heavy with rain

but somehow floating

like one of those giant balloons

in that parade in New York

where it takes a hundred strong men

to hold it to earth.

But stronger even

than that.

So huge and heavy with rain

that I can do anything

go anywhere

I can float to Africa

and save a million people from starving

in a drought,

or howl and hit

a resort in Florida

wiping out million Dollar homes

of the rich and famous

without paying out a penny

of insurance.

Or I just coast along gently

borne by a Southern breeze

to Tahiti

where I fall in mid-afternoon

in a thousand fragile droplets

on a pristine white beach.

Clouds can do anything,

can't they?

The weather reports prove it,

after all.

They're always wrong.

Nobody knows what clouds will do.

And if a cloud wants to rain it will,

and if it won't

it won't.