The goddess collects tears of joy in tiny cordials
and uses them to seed the thunderheads.
They mount up fifteen miles into the cold air, and
bolts of lightening make them glow from within,
like the free-form lanterns of the clown-gods.
These vast, black-and-white striped beings
lean down to roll the die of our planet, and
we feel their breaths in the wild wind,
the kind of winds that go right through you and
blow away everything but laughter.

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