Empyreal

See the sky as IMAX theater. A cupped palm
over our heads. Meteor skimming across.
Falling stars. Thunderheads. Distance. Silent
music. Sitting outside on the driveway watching Venus rise.
Pink clouds fluffed like cotton candy...no,
no, not that easy, not cotton candy
but pink as the edge of a scar, fluffed
like old insulation or a dust bunny
or that puff of cartoon smoke from the tailpipe
of a car driven by Huckleberry Hound. The color
of a two day old bruise. The color
of paint #6 in the paint-by-number kit.
The color of the lightest part
of the chubby blueberry beginning to rot
in the fridge. The color of the deep-inside
of ice. The color of a plum, bitten.

Constellations; both known and forgotten.
Stars and planets glittering like sleet.




The background for oak trees.
The trees; a silhouette of dancers.

Dark and wild.
A dance of sparkles.
Bright and something...something, not cheery
or hopeful but forgiving maybe.
Bright and forgiving. Laying on the cool ground
and watching satellites, watching
airplanes, jet streams, watching nothing
but black. Lightning cracking the sky apart.
A fingernail moon on a soft canvas.