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.
Copyright © Michael Parker | Year Posted 2025
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