longing for a view,
dreaming of sky above trees
-- a forest of moss

I hear the night come --
painted sky replaces sun;
neighborhood dogs bark

Watercolor Sky

What is a sunset but just a watercolor sky?
Not pencil-sketched shapes of clouds against the noonday blue;
Not cutout reflections pasted on a pond with glue;
Not an earthly mural painted with an oily hue,
But pigments thinned with sunshine, moistened with clouds so high,
Washes which upwards towards transparency accrue,
Tints changing on a whim with each moments new view,
Until too few rays are left for colors to imbue;
And the artist folds his palette and moves on; but why?

twinkling stars are deaf
to a rumbling passing train
-- again, night quiets

rust divides the blue
against dusky western sky
-- bluebird on a perch

huddled in support,
frozen stalks of last year's grass
-- snow reveals the wind

darkness weighs heavy,
the quiet of night is cold;
I dream of the sun