Face in the Clouds
Sometimes I stare when clouds appear
above us in the atmosphere
and look for shapes I recognize.
I find your face. I see your eyes.
I notice there your fluffy hair.
I point and say, “I see you there!”
But you look up and fail to see
your face that’s staring back at me.
“I see a bear. I see a bee.
I see a bull. I don’t see me.”
“Right there,” I say. “That cloud is you!”
You squint and say, “Not me. Not true.”
But there you are, as plain as day.
I know it’s you, but dare not say
because I think, lest I’ve mistook,
you must dislike the way you look.