The Limit
Lying on our backs in the glass,
Watching the clouds, or shaping them, perhaps, but we're seven years old, so it's not like we know which is which
We see a valiant knight ride by on a unicorn in the sky
(No, you say, it's a fire-breathing dragon to breathe us a chance to roast marshmallows like that one time at Girl Scout camp)
So we laugh and we argue and we're free to agree to disagree or to imagine and believe in unlimited things, as the shapes shift and distort, charge and roar

In twenty years or so, the same cloud comes across the sky across the cubicle window
And I feel a sense of nostalgia and turn to you this time around and say:
"That one looks like the landlord coming to collect the rent."
You shake your head and tilt it skyward laughing like you have a secret
(No, you say, can't you see the dragon chasing him and breathing fire on him just above the Starbucks?)
And we laugh and we're free to agree to disagree with the corporate boxes that separate us from the skies
So we're twenty-seven, and we roll in the long grass, piss off our boss, and ruin our business suits
As our feathery white, fire-breathing friend in the sky waits to give him a talking to