In your ability to heal
The shattered shards, so small
They could be passed through the
Eye of a needle, and threaded into the fabric
Of your trust.
In your ability to see images in the clouds
Abstract, perhaps, but blatantly obvious
To your honest assessing eye.
If nothing else, I believe
In the knowledge that even if there are no clouds
And the sky is awash with dismal grey that
Blocks the sun that lights us,
You will dream of the clouds that
You know are still there.