Crimson Clouds.

Yes, in my wintriest moods, I hold
Absolute power
To boycott any colour and to forbid any flower
To be.
- Soliloquy of the Solipsist, Sylvia Plath

We?
Paint the sky in reds
And give life to clouds
As they thunder down like antelope against
A bloody backdrop
No steam or vapour suffers itself
To grant the crimson
Any audience while we remain in power:
A parliament of solipsists

They!
Turn from us, backs
Thorned and prickled
Displacing our conscious authority
Turning out to sea
Look, the clouds care not for food and drink
And you should think
For that would wrench them back under our spell
Our mindful incantation

You,
Were on board in full
I remember your feet
On the deck of the ship we took
To a longer day
We made ourselves Elysium up among
The clouds that run
Chasing crimson wings you left
In my head
And then you left