It is a day of held back skies,
of skies restrained and waiting.
A day the clouds hold conference
and dance around a sun-caught moon.
No one seems to notice
or if they do they have the wherewithal
to storm the gates of morning
twice swaddled in last night's dreams.
Some people say they never dream.
They insist their dreams are things
of skin clad situations,
that they are pros at thinking them alive.
I see a man pushing
a wheelbarrow of pillows,
filling his calendar
with impossible appointments,
impossible alliances with those
seeking respite for thought.
Not realizing that at the end
of his supply he will be more wearied
than those to which he gives relief.
Now is now.
The clouds cease deliberation.
Recess is now a reconvention.
The sky loves earth with rain.
Earth loves sky, blooming the world,
splaying endeavor, dissecting work,
spending all that isn't fear.
Nothing is greater than its telling.
Courage redeems the secrets.
Canyons gape. Rivers flood.
The sea can't sit its stand.
We spill ourselves to filling.