Walks Are Useless III

After reading a bit of Kafka’s diary, I go out
to check the status of this century’s clouds.
 
If they were meaningless
then, are they less so now? 
 
I sweep my arm through the air, and it leaves
no trace, no neon zee. I seem
 
continuous. The view from nowhere
says I’m tiny, and stuck
 
in the approximate present.
It’s not even speaking directly to me.
 
And then a blind man says,
When you’re blind,
 
you don’t see black,
you just don’t see.