Just clouds

CLOUDS ACROSS DAY'S ENDING

Clouds are strung across day's ending.

The shyest breath of breeze
stirs long thin leaves upon
a dusk-dark lemon-scented gum.

But in the slowly disappearing blue
a high wind spins
fantastic filagree of cloud,
wind-curving, fleeing filaments,
far-swirling streams of finest white,
wide streamers in dusk-dimming sky,

as a far-flung script unfurled,
as the singing spinning of the world,
as a galaxy
flings out streams of stars;
as creation comes to be.

And across the twilight lawn,
a gray cat prowls-
and every move
is flowing form.