The way the sky matters to me
is not in its blue,
not in the birds,
but in the dreaming it holds
when the sun is elsewhere,
when the wind is still.
The way the sky matters to me
is not in its blue,
not in the birds,
but in the dreaming it holds
when the sun is elsewhere,
when the wind is still.
Comments1
It's a lovely poem. Good job.
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