The azure sprawl of Alabama's sky,
Its cataract clouds wiped away, unstained, stares down like God's own eye.
There are no stars to guide us through the blue,

No landmarks for a stranger neck-deep
In the strangeness of a strange land
Where everyone looks back with
Affable suspicion, pleasant concern,

But home is where the heart is, so maybe
Part of home is here, this blessed mess,
Where under God's eye we toil away
Forging memories from spent time.

"The brain - is wider than the sky -"
But not here.