And when I fall in love,— I began, I will build a mountain to touch the sky. Then, my lover and I will have the best of both worlds, reality firmly under our feet, while we have our heads in the clouds with all our illusions still intact. And the purple grass will grow all around, high enough to reach our eyes.

The world made me cold. You made me water. One day we'll be clouds.

He has his head in the clouds. He must live in a skyscraper.

Your eyes are like heavy rain falling from pregnant clouds. With one glance, you washed awaythe poems I chalked on the groundand drowned all my beliefs. Now, I only scribble your name and believe in your truth. I know nothing but you.

Come back to me. Where have you gone? And why so long? I miss the star below your lip,the constellation on your chest. I miss your ways,how you net butter-flying words and release themfor others to enjoy. I miss your tenderness,the sweetness of your breathand the song of your voice. I miss howyou worship me. Come back to me once more. Why did you go? And whatever for? The heavens plotted against us. The clouds came andpissed on our lives. The smell of charged particlesstill lingers in the air. What will become of you and I? Come back to us.

Outside the window, a bank of clouds appeared on the horizon, inching slowly across the sky, finally slipping across the Moon and blocking out its radiant light. As he clicked off his overhead light, he turned his eyes one last time to the heavens. Outside, in the newly fallen darkness, the world had been transformed. The sky had become a glistening tapestry of stars.

The clouds took on the shape of dancers; from somewhere far off, Pram heard music before the clouds became normal again.

How sweet the morning air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of Nature!

she is born in the breath of a cloud

A few nights later, I secretly hope that I might be a genius. Why else can no amount of sleeping pills fell my brain? But in the morning my daughter asks me what a cloud is and I cannot say.

God is a cloud from which rain fell.

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.

There is divinity in the clouds.