Clouds are smoke of a burning sea.
They get in your hair in the jungle
When trees burn and climb a sky.
Trees are green sea below clouds.
They are vapor to please moody sun.
A sea burns too to please angry sun
Empathetically, its bosom heaving
In waves , somewhat platonic love.
Smoke happens on the street fires,
Near boss trees who shed their love
In leaves, scooped up by old women
For money to keep stomachs going.