Out of the Clouds (Things in my Tarot Card)

My Ace of Cups overflows,
drifting like flowers
on the sea.

I drink from it
knowing that nothing
is certain.

Will liquid become air?
Will my hands become feathers
that become wings?

To the moon, perhaps–
in parallel, we translate ourselves
as everything changes.

For the NaPoWriMo prompt, a sort-of-a-list of things, in the form of a quadrille about an Ace for dVerse.