Different Ways to See the Sky

Different Ways to See the Sky

 

Loosely gripping hands, we sit and sigh,

for a moment no words needed.

…

The sun is sinking on our day,

the healing breeze is heeded.

 

Now I wet my lips,

to put to words the awe I see…

The forever soaked horizon. What does it mean for you, for me?

 

The golden hues are warm, like summer on bare thighs,

like chestnuts from the fire,

my soft hair as it dries.

 

Like one side in the old sash bay

where the sunlight bathes all day.

Or high, in farmhouse lofts

where we’ve daydreamed in the hay.

 

The crimson blushes in their layers,

climb the sky, like staggered stairs.

And draped across the salty sea

glistening pinpricks tingle me.

 

Slices of the grey and white

slash like steel blades of light,

in the sweet melee,

like cutting peaches by the tree.

 

High above are jazzy blues,

floating on those warmer hues.

A cold splash to remind us

of the day so soon behind.

 

At the centre of it, lemon yolk,

like piercing flutes in rooms of smoke,

it toots to tell the world,

‘The cool night comes!’

 

And I tell this so descriptively,

not making visual similes;

just touch and smell, and taste

and what we hear…

 

Because I’m talking to my friend

and these visual gifts I lend,

so he, who’s never seen,

can know this sight.

 

 

‘Did you ever see such sky?’

I squeeze his hand, try not to cry.

And by his loving

latent sigh

I know he did.

 

My eyes now overflowing

for my friend,

with whom I’m glowing.

How he makes my other senses gleam with glee.

 

Together, we find different ways to see.