The J.M.W Turner in my head elbows me into a sense of calm,
a stillness in which I’m helpless to the interplay of sun and cloud.
Gradient tremors mesmerize, then relax, contract, then open-palm
the sky like a lightbulb pulled on a celestial cord and I’m found

in an almost painterly meditation, a state my schedule precludes
but, today, encourages and guides and folds me under its jacket
of air and light. And I am all that nature contains and secludes.
I belong to and am outside the moment. A pin in a universal bucket.