skies like these can be 

anything one wants,

a blank canvas,

~

in the unbroken milk 

blue clear wash of

early morning,

half a pallid moon, 

caught like a flat fish 

in invisible netting 

hangs forlornly as if

embarrassed to remain

on show there,

~

I sit quietly, the city

not yet woken around 

me, stare up to the blue, 

the distance touchable

but still wondrous,

~

with skies like these 

I believe I can be

that  boy again 

 

© Graham R Sherwood 7/26