By Magic. Poem by Miki Byrne

By Magic.


I often look to the sky and wonder how
the clouds stay up the way they do.

All sitting just so, at the same level.
With their bottoms slightly shaded

and plump ice-cream scoops piled up above.
Or those huge white billows that grow and grow.

Edged in silver, yet never falling any lower.
There will be a scientific explanation.

Involving words that stick in the mouth
and taste like science with books

full of pictures and meteorological terms
that professors have conspired over.

Yet when I see the changing shapes,
The shimmering colours.

The living clouds that gather in flocks.
That turn from white to darkest grey

when they feel sullen. And I view
the fairytale wisps, feathered and stretched.

As if being brushed and I see the speed
with which they gather in a tumble of white,

or disappear completely into a sharp blue sky.
As if none of them had ever existed.

I can only draw one conclusion.
Clouds stay up by magic.