The sky had a ceiling I could touch

I'm standing in a field and the whole sky is pressing down like a ceiling you can reach up and knock on. The clouds aren't moving — they're breathing, slowly, all together, and I know somehow that the storm isn't coming, it's already here and it's been waiting for me to notice. There's rain but it's falling upward, silver, and I just stand there letting it rise past me, thinking this is what it must feel like when a supercell decides to stop following the rules.