Let's produce a cloud

Let's produce a cloud
and cover it all white
(it has to fit the sky)

We'll settle on the stars
in the pitch and deep abyss
not too bright, not too bliss.
(constellations aren't always worn)

We can milk a day and call it sun
a loft, our beechnut barn
not too soft, not too calm.
(farm crops grow wild awhile)

Raise a rainbow for me, m'dear
the sky will die with shame
neon tints of silver flints
forest blue and marlin green
ashen brick, and sullen grey
a casket full of colors.
Bronzen hinge and handle
velvet, felt a bit
jester june, and marple steed
masquerade the mortal marriage
a union of cumulus, debris, and stone.

even lightning cannot describe
what's meant when the cloud can't arrive
and rivers who overflow their peaks, are creeks
when no respect goes to the stars that don't reflect
a mighty gale blows baby breath
when dairy dawn delivers but froth

am I to build the foundations of the sky?
when I have left the clouds to dry

am I to tame the fiery stars
when I am quenched by every char

and sun whose udder be my design?
as caged and jailed I do confine

Once given the sky, I bowed to receive
locked in a box though, never turned the key.