The sky has broken this morning.
Swelled, stirred, and burst its bounds, cascading from the stars to my door step.
I know it will vanish, evaporate with the cruel bright sun,
But for now it seems far from fleeting.
Let me show you.
Mist still hangs heavy from the night.
Only now it’s been stained, dyed by some careless celestial hand.
A deep, probing blue, which, suspended by mist, veils the hills and accents the trees green.
It invites you to run, vanish like the horizon into the cobalt dark.
Let me show you.
So tangible is the indigo tapestry,
That you want to gather it in your arms, infuse it into your skin, and return no different than the sky.
You want to steel it, hide it for yourself, throw your life away to become a blue junky.
Its looks so palpable you can’t bear to disturb it, to face its actual evanescence.
Let me show you.
But already the sun has permeated its edges,
Staining the flawless dark with canals of weak, tepid, periwinkle.
With day fast approaching the mist begins to disperse,
But with a final hurrah of undiluted grandeur it thins leaving the hills tinted with the sky.
Let me show you.
The sun by now has done too much damage for the blue to be recognizable,
Though a watered down version still clings to the western tree tops,
The clearest blue now lives in my head, a memory of a broken sky,
Lost to those who don’t know where to look, forever gone, unless…
Let me show you.