Ascensions

By Philip Bulman

---

I saw clouds
radiant as dawn,
each cloud holy,
some seeing me
in their shadows,
casting auroras
to enshroud
and hallow.

Often, I called them
by name and they descended,
bowed toward Bethlehem,
blessed me before ascending
to heaven to exclaim
and adore.

Clouds deep in prayer said
they never stopped moving
altogether but would pause
and weep over paralysis.

Jesus saw paralyzed people
in Galilee;
then I saw them in Philly,
one trapped in a bottle,
another in a syringe,
one mesmerized by lust,
always leering.

I saw addicts
motionless in sedation
only to writhe again in craving,
heard desolation shatter veins.

I never saw a cumulus
marooned in the sky,
unable to dance or pray.
No, I never met still clouds,
only angels who said
tell people:
Love is movement;
lay down
your bottles, syringes, obsessions,
and rejoice with us and the clouds.

---

Philip Michael Bulman, a native of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, currently lives in Maryland. His poems have appeared in Eastern Structures and Gargoyle.

Philip's other work on Foreshadow:
Elegy for Desert Flowers (Poetry, July 2022)

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