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Most clouds fizzle and dissolve like sherbet lemons,

if you stare at them long enough.


I like the ones that merge to form another thing,

an animal or some indecipherable bodiless shape.


Clouds. Nuvole. In Italy, they’re all dressed the same.

Sometimes I lie on my back and stare at the effervescent mass.


Daring them to change metamorfosi. They never do.

Instead they smother entire villages like an expanding invisibility cloak.


Then I wait for a sign, or some kind of impression

that will determine my fate il mio destino. It never comes.


So then, I’ll just go on dreaming of bittersweet

clouds fizzing on my tongue effervescenza.



© Natalie Baker

Picture 11096788, photograph by Rod Shone, 20th century, image copyright Mary Evans / Rod Shone



Natalie Baker is a freelance copywriter and journalist. Her words have been featured in Time Out, CourierRakesprogressSUITCASE magazineBad Pony, Occulum and Luna Luna Magazine. She has just completed her first full-length play, The Grinding Stone. Find her on Twitter @NatabakeWriter