i look up to see
a group of cloud
like a giant smoke ring
imperfect but solid and obvious
as though below
a volcano
no–one’s discovered before
here in the centre of paris
has decided to turn on to play
nuts
of course
and i’m too deeply exhausted
to follow this not even pareidolia through
to wherever it wants me to go
the rings oddly expanding
changing radius not height
and i yawn