The sky stretches white fingers into blue paint,
Playing and smearing as it wills.
It uses the sun's radiance as a mirror,
Bending color...
Stretching the veil-thin canvass across the horizon's edge.
Ripples are smoothed by the ever-present winds
Blowing warm and chilly in turns,
Not seen but felt cavorting.
The sky... as vast as a diamond's interior,;
Intense as a resonant chord
Struck on a million harps.
It has sound, touch and scent wound together,
Molten into the great firmament.
Every night the light slips into its closet tightly,
Leaving hung jewels to shine
As the pearled eyes watches.
