You pluck stars,
and hold them
in the palm of your hand:
shadow-birds are eating!

You mould suns,
and lift them
from the palms of your hands:
fire-birds are heaving!

You weave clouds,
and fold them
to the palms of your hands:
thunder-birds are beating . . .

You paint drops,
you blend them,
draw bows
and bend them
along the palms of your hands --

and I . . . ?
I love you, like Sky