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Summer skies. 

So blue.  Such blues. 
So blue. 

Whitepuffs idly swoop by,
never idling. On the move. 
For bluer skies?

A part of the sky fell



out today. 
  A tiny bit. 
A tiny tiny bit. 
Hardly matters, this bit 
except, I suppose, to it. 
(And I.)

And you?
This blue. 
Fell from the 

                      sky,

today. 


I held it in my hand. 
I cried out.  I looked around. 
(I may have pled.)
I held the blue dead
sky in my palm, to my heart,
and tried to find another
piece in this life
its place.  
I tried. 
It died. 

I cried out.  It did not cry out. 
I looked around.  It did not look around. 
Wherefrom did it come?
Whereto shall it go?
Whereto do I aim my questions, too?

A bit of the blue sky fell from the blue sky, today.
A bit of the blue sky fell to silent still soil, today.
I have no questions for 
men in hats. 
I have no quarrel with pretend gods. 
I have no qualm with calm fate. 
I just want to know -
I need to wonder at -

If a speck of feathered blue sky
falls from the sky,
what is left
of sky?
What is left of us. 
What is left to us?

I wonder. 
Where the blue sky fell
is there now 
black?
Is there now white?

I set the sky upon a stone. 


-ShhDragon

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