The sky is
A work in-progress
Blue canvas spattered
Gray chaotic and
Lacking the definition
Of anything finished
It’s a torrent
Of cloudy rumors
Swirling about uncertain
Of its truth
Hazy like Pittsburgh
When steel mills
Billowed noxious smoke
Covering everything everyone
In light soot
Oh these mornings
Make everything turn
Away roll over
Trying to forget
That this day
Ever really started
Sky rain plump
Saturated clouds like
Sudsy sponges bob
About above me
Saul is tucked
Behind like hands
In gray ovenmitts
All is still
As though everything
Waits for the
Bad news of
The day this
Reminds me of
The soggy days
Of San Francisco
Like tented nights
Telling scary stories
Flashlight under chin
This morning’s sun
Uplights the clouds
Turning them the
Softest soft downy
And fluffy pink
Jagged gray cliffs
Bully the horizon
Frightening the willows
Into a curtsy
Plane tale lines
Scratch high above
Appearing and disappearing
Like invisible ink
Or whispered passwords
Two lone birds
Sing sweet harmonies
As the steamy
Furries rise above
My coffee cup
There’s that oh
So precious moment
When I hear
Something I remember
And sitting there
Anywhere really there
You are with
Me and out
They come these
Tears welling up
And cascading down
My cheeks smiling
Through them excusing
Myself conscious to
Others sipping my
Espresso and recalling
Just the many
Many simple things
This morning’s sky
Is a robins egg
Pale blue outside
With white edges
Where it cracked
The East glows
An iridescent white
While cool night
Retreats far west
Dipping its shadow
Behind the cypresses
The vibrant rich
Colors of day
Remain still muted
Sleepiness calm like
The last dream
I just had
Hangs like netting
I bathe nighttime
But dawn each
And every dawn
Brings to me
The same sweet
First taste of
A new lollipop
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 