Up
I look to the sky for answers
At night stars blink back and sometimes I think I can hear them
Even though they offer no grande perspective
That's been saved for the moon
with its mysterious haze that buzzes
Whispers to me in a voice that I need to lean into
and it drops down on my shoulders like a
weighted blanket that I drag through the damp yard
wearing flip flops, a hopeful garment after a long winter
The smell stays with me
worms and rich, composting soil
Peepers hang on the edge, chip chirping, cacophonous
and panicked by unpredictable chills
They ignore the fact that morning will come
with buttered sky
Seen through mottled windows
splashed by big truck traffic
and dust
kicked up
from a gritty winter road.
Blue shows up just when it seems it won't
after fog and din
Some big creature that insists on rolling through this valley
right in front of the sun
and light that
certainly lands on my face
and hands stretched out greet it.
