Cloud-Tattered.

I shook off the house like a hooded cape,

And came out, free, into the March-blown street...

At a lash of the gale, at a sight of the cloud-tattered skies,

As a coat discarded,

I shook off civilization

And became wild,

And my naked soul raced the clouds,

And the flavour of the Earth was fresh and primitive…

James Oppenheim, from "March Night"