the sky speaks to me
jet trails
say: its going to be
ok

the small wisp clouds say: what a
terrible
waste
of a mind

the heavy ones say: set your feet
lean towards lake shores

the overcast says: where is my head,
when I cannot sleep

the rain says: come here
the snow says: lay down
the sun says: hang your shoulders from your neck and
laugh with the enemies of your lovers

sunset pulls at ivory, the moon hums
picking up every piece to put it back in the box
chides: you might as well have said so
each star whispers the name of each day
I have lived
its own name is the period at the end of the line

the deep hue says: hello
bending along the line of infinity to
meet the light hue
an exposition of uneven symmetry
it writes on me
a hand gentle on the head of a child:
where are you looking for
it says:
I am not as transparent as I seem when
I am pushed down into the earth by the night
it says: no,
here am I again, born again, in the dew
inhaled once more into heaven

to prove the boast,
sunrise spills out in a violin voice
climbing through a thousand different beginnings
extending from tree tops,
pulling civilization upright
with a breath of wind
it clears its voice

and speaks to me