Cumulonimbus

It was one of those days
where the clouds were
spotless cows being herded
across the sky
by southern winds.
The sun was a golden eye,
belonging maybe to God who sees all,
or Apollo who was incandescent.
"I hate clouds."
you told me,
as a cumulonimbus eclipsed the sun
and plunged us in a momentary shadow,
hiding us from God.
"Why?" I asked and you
closed your eyes,
seemingly waiting for the clouds to dissipate
like divine smoke.
"Because," you said "They're like white vultures,
ghosts made of the Devil's cotton
stalking us,
waiting for us to
die."