You know those skies,
The ones that beg
For would-be lovers,
To brush lips.

The molten amber orb
of the sun,
Melting into the horizon.

Smears of shameless light
radiating through
a glorious mackerel swathe,

With all the pastel shades
blended artfully
before they caress the ground.

I still see those skies,
I can feel the tangible beauty,
fearlessly nudging me,
towards rapture.


Sometimes trees are nothing but jagged lines connecting the earth to the sky. Sometimes the sky is only an undulating backdrop for the trees. Sometimes your breath is the sky and your feet are deeply rooted in the ground. Sometimes you are the jagged lines that connect the earth to sky.