The sky lacked
the thinnest
whisker of cloud.
Jets untethered by contrails
hardly seemed to roar,
lost in all that blue.
This was the sky I labored at
with crayons,
having given up on the sun.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
The sky lacked
the thinnest
whisker of cloud.
Jets untethered by contrails
hardly seemed to roar,
lost in all that blue.
This was the sky I labored at
with crayons,
having given up on the sun.