This is one of a number of sky poems I've written in the last few years.
The sky is
my touchstone.
What lies beyond
the trees and
the white bird’s flight
is the origin
of oracles.
Sailing clouds.
Pink dawns.
Red sunsets.
The sun
breaking through
the clouds –
or not.
Mist obscuring
the hills –
or not.
Nights with constellations,
nights with the moon –
or not.
Lifting my head,
I am related
and reoriented.
Any time.
Any place.
Message received.
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