Perhaps you picture
A sky filled with cotton candy clouds and halos,
but it is red blood
soaking up the blue sponge
It is periwinkle taffy clouds
stretched
until they snap

It is endless circles of gold links,
but there are no fences or gates
There are no streets to walk upon,
only voices
to follow as you
move
slowly, blind

And it is wide open eyes,
A well of tears,
penny loafers and broken watches
It is big sky,
so big and orange and black and green
so big that I
cannot
wrap my arms
around it

But most of all, dear child
There is no breath
Up here
No sighs, no gasps

And so

I visit the ground
and
feel
your soft whispers
against my whiskers

10/26/2003