"Clouds Through a Window"

It gives me no pleasure
But only an empty kind of satisfaction,
A little reassurance that some part of my mind still works,
That I knew, watching the discrete, solid little clouds
Floating across the sky,
That because they were floating in the wrong direction—
East to west—
The sky would soon be gray.

Now it's all pancake clouds,
Where before they were biscuits,
And the blue has gone away.
I already miss them:
Those clouds that, yes, looked something like biscuits,
Though they also looked tattered on top,
Little clouds with the tops of their heads blown off,
The bone sheared off,
And brains that didn't stay.