It is strange to realise that
What is outside the window is
Not world, but sky.

Through double glazing, the urgent
Night wind is a murmur, a hurried whisper,
An overhead undercurrent that still
Makes me wish the night was my home.

For the most beautiful sky, I look
To the west. In my youth, I thought
It was merely for the sunset, but now
The reason is clear. I feel the ocean currents
As deep knowledge, unquestionable truth,
The certainty of being in many places
At once.

(It is like she knows, and I feel naked
Before her, unable to hide;
Frightened and liberated all at once.)

There is night, and there is day, and
One now fits neatly within the other,
Eclipsed, as the year finally begins
To slow. This is something I have
Only ever seen from here;
Adverse weather routes are
Still another world to me.

It has always been a good thing.
Joy has outshone my lingering sorrow,
And the whole is somehow more
Than even such distant parts,
Like we swapped, but both
Unwittingly traded up.

Land and sea should be our
Enemies, but instead remain neutral,
Without comment or juxtaposition.
They are merely world to the western sky,
The most beautiful sky there is.

11/10/2015

Posted on 12/30/2015
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