A poem I wrote at some point during my first year of college:
Thoughts on a Morning Drive
In preschool we were taught
the sky is not a blue crayon stripe
hovering sterile above the world--
but rather that it reaches down
to mingle with the dirt.
If we live among Heaven
then I witnessed divinity itself
on my drive this morning:
clouds soaring high above,
gold coalesced with pale blue,
a light so beautiful it could be only God himself.