My Sky

There is a movement of spirit
when the sky becomes an ocean;
its depths infused with inky hues,
laden with a weight of color
spanning the spectrum of blues.
The air is charged and surges
through all that lies within its path,
currents alternately flow and ebb
in heavens, dark and vast.
Seams split; night’s arms open wide
for lashes from its mysterious master,
to whose will it readily complied.

There is a settling of peace,
sediment from the storm,
where reflection is forever altered
from what had been its norm.
In awareness of minute details,
your diminutive status within
seeps through the memory of man;
An understanding,
pre-dating the oldest Celtic clan.
There is a need to be connected
within a desire to let go;
to surrender to the forces
that balance beyond control.