Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Mackerel Sky

The sky, like a great fish
swims west toward sunset--

the mottled clouds
silver-gray fading into blush
the color of salmon swimming home to spawn
impossible sequins stitched across the great arc

There is no wind, and yet:

the great belly of sky
turns and wraps itself
around the far horizon,
swimming to blue hills--

seeking secret meadows,
dark tarns--