Why is it that this beautiful sky will slice through my mirth to something more somber, something without measure?
Why can people never do the same? Make me stop and stare and drink my eyes,
feel my cloth crawl across my skin as the greys and blues swirl and sunder, painting sadness and glory in transient wisps
of moisture and memory! For to pierce the chasm of abyssal shifting shapes - that are dreams and constructs and awesome fears -
would that not be love? And now, for love's sake, I hesitate to see the sacred shadows of my dusk, my hour, my irrevocable divide,
as they paint their shrouded grounds and azure spaces to frame the purity of impurity's form.
October 10, 2007