Plowing the clouds

in a time when I was young,
once I plowed the skies,
two mighty star steeds,
pulled my ephemeral blade,
gouging the cirrus and cumulus,
the furrow from dawn to night,
the rich smell of their scent
an aphrodisiac of moisture,
an open cleft in the sparkling sky,
inviting, castigating my youth,
there were so many of them,
had I known that those clouds
would not last, would disappear,
I would have lingered in their vapors,
savoring  them with my heart,
thus remembering their delicate passing.

©2012, Donald Harbour