Ode To the Sky As It Sets
The sky thralls me- my eyes
e'er drawn to her center
where she emits her soul
a single star.
her skirt of scalloped clouds,
rose hued,
darkens with her mood. She is royal,
royal blue. She is enshrouded
by inumerous precious stones,
sapphires and diamonds
she wears in her rolling tresses.
Sometimes she is lit
by fire.
Her skirt is
incandescent, lit by the
relentless flame.
The moon is the eye
of a certain storm.
The eye of the soul.
It is rimmed in the sun's
smouldering embers.
Tonight
the sky enticed me,
sending the sun to rest with such
a flourish,
a swish of the hip, sending
the glowing folds of her skirt
in a frenzy.
And it was all for me
to draw my eyes
to her, so that I may be tempted
to keep my eyes upon her.
The moon was stark on the dark stage,
soft and full
perfect, cratered and undulating.
I plucked her out of the sky
and replaced her with
my own golden iris.
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