Comes a time that the blue of
the sky meets the blue of the mood,
comes a day when we don’t
write it down, the measures
that we keep for comfort,
the wishes that we lose
among the clouds, the stars
lost to constellations, the moon
always changing its mind.
Still, I sit and stare
overwhelmed or unaware as
the crows take wing or the sun
cedes the heights, noting
the spread of the stratus and
the accumulated cumulus,
light leaking out of heaven.
The words always waiting
there in the firmament on high:
lift your chin, look up.