Letter to the Sky
Bent by Refraction
Scattering, refracting, particles cling to the yellowed strings of sunlight that drape across the crown molding of the horizon before throwing them back across the sky in rose-coloured smudges, like blush brushed along a cobalt cheek.
That is why the sky changes, sliding from midday into evening, as seamless as a woman sliding into a pair of stockings. But still I crave to know why?
My heart is warm, and you fill my room with sticky honey sunshine that drips down my window frame, and trails me in gooey footprints as I sing through my morning. A woman of curves,
How is it that you always know exactly what I need, holding me in your arms as tender as my own mother, like you cradle those lonely birds on aching, southbound wings? Like the dear friend who understands the very beating of my heart, like the sister who understands each tick of my pulse, you ache, you laugh you feel with me.
For every giddy afternoon glow, enduring every heartbreak and wreaking havoc on the atmosphere
when someone wreaked havoc on my heart. For the warm rain as we played in the street that August morning, and the ripe-peach setting over the water the evening I kissed him. Thank you. Thank you.