In the places where
the water moves swiftly
over rocks,
under sky…

While not cloudless,
it is perfect nonetheless.

The clouds present
are sparse,
scattered like seasonings across
the endless blue,
served up sashimi-style
raw, cerulean,
just for me.

There are ions
in these places,
released by movement,
mist, mineral.

They fill lung
and eye
with prisms,
a freshness not
consumed in
ages.

So,
I find a seat
at God’s supper-table,
pick up my fork,
begin to eat the air,

which is enough
right then
to sustain me.

*
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019