here
four/five: a poem on nature
From here,
the sky’s eyes are brightest
when weeping
into the terracotta pots
strewn across my backyard,
their ancient paint
blistering,
heartbroken flowers
crumbling,
and I am searching the sky for
the horizon wound somewhere
between the incisors
of those bright clouds
in God’s mouth.
His voice coaxes
my eyes away,
commanding I look elsewhere,
but these days his words are
empty wind and
stagnant water:
I may go blind before
I cease peering into the
heart of the sky
when it splits open
like this
and I can begin to
decipher its contents.
And although
my mother finds no beauty
in the drops of an ocean,
from here,
the sky’s eyes are brightest
when weeping,
and I am enamored by
the mosaic of it all.
@ellowrites @ellopoetry @apoem_4u #poetry #poem
