Cloud

I sort through my shoeboxes of photos;

Choose my memories with frenzied care

So that the best images can be scanned

And uploaded to the cloud. Cloud?

Isn't that where angels are supposed to dwell?

I do the same scanning with old letters

Even ones written before my birth

But mostly those that were sent to me

By friends and relations many now dead

Maybe sitting on the cloud to dwell with angels.

Then there are those photos and messages

Already bytten into the internet’s vastness

Yet somehow not yet immortal until

They are sent into my personal cloud

Where my own angels are dwelling

I squeeze my life from small black boxes

To redigitize them into something I can’t see

But I want my life to be scanned into a space

Where it means that I will live forever

A dark black cloud where I can always dwell.