Heavenlash

Clouds, tufted and woolly
smeared at the edges, marble
a tin-foil sky.
The trees beneath stand
lush and green, and not
just green, but many
kinds of green—
Crowns of jade, of emerald, of peridot
fan against their chrome horizon:
Great verdant afros.

Neck unhinged, I
track rolling caravans
of cumuli—
crystal laden and
chased by winds, like
herded beasts on yellow plains.

Startled by growling thunder,
I know that if the sky moves,
indeed it lives.
And what am I,
but a grain of dust
afloat the currents of
God’s great breath?

Published at Wordlust : Paperfetish, April 15-2005