The best way to become a cloud—a cloud one could be proud of—is to have a father

who’s a meteorologist. Yosemite Sam upbraids a dust devil. What would he say about

the weather on Lesbos? Or on drugs, for that matter? Leave it to Beaver Lamarck to

form a list of cloud types. These here blew in from the French Revolution to stack up

over this canary yellow hum cover. One never knows, do one? Would you believe a

cicerone in his cups under a claudicated anvil fixin’ to fulgurate a lunch loaf? Nosh on

this: The concupiscent curd of a former whirling dervish. Is Rumi in the house?