It hangs over my head, this sky,
charged with stars and rain
and presses down, bright as diamonds,
with the force of the ocean.
If I could, I would sail away
from the grey whales of clouds,
lumbering wrecks, devourers of hopes,
or fly on borrowed wings into the light.
But only in dreams, tossed between dusk and dawn,
can I find the white flicker of feathers
in the half light and the gold rippled air.