At the End of the Street Lies the Sky

By Michael Parker At the end of the street lies the sky dressed in the purple magician's robe of eventide and the winter storm. Tonight, she sculpts stairs of ice and snow. She casts spells upon the laden earth and the dying man can hear her invitations in the blizzard, in dreams that are like all other dreams except more sound, deep, and vivid. He leaves while his wife is sleeping. He leaves without any goodbyes. There is no gentle kiss for her lips. No tussling of the boys' hair or kiss for the daughter with the moon-face. This is not intentional. How could he know the destination of this dream? He leaves his house, walks down the silent street past rows of barren trees that shield homes of dear neighbors who helped round out the days, grow kids, and watch year after year arrive and depart. He does not think this odd tonight. He considers it an adventure, walking past the shroud of snow and on to glistening stairs that climb the breast of sky. Copyright © 2021 by Michael Parker. Originally published in Utah Magazine, 2006. Also published in the poetry collection, Diving the Spirits in the House of the Hush and Hush, by Michael Parker, published by the Utah State Poetry Society, 2021.