On nights before a storm
I can hear the sky
A quiet rumble
Rising from the earth,
Ancient in its echoing

As I lie next to you,
Wondering if you’re wondering
The same thing,
How the sky seems so unending
And yet is not,
I watch your eyelids close,
And think how we are not unlike
This sky

Sometimes raining
And others pure,
But we’ll climb too high
To breathe the atmosphere
And we’ll descend
Into the echoes
Of what we could have been