Up, Up, Up Into His Sky

I wake, having forgotten to look up
To see how god shapes his story for us
If only we had the cypher to the clouds.

I ask the trees, having watched Him longer,
If they have a code, they say, “no man,
Made up our own, more fun that way.”

I smile and move along to speak with birds
They all laugh together, “silly man, always
Thinking God does everything for you.”

I smile and look past them at the blue
Wanting to unlock the dictionary, and name
Every corner of the sky in between clouds.

Just then the birds’ silence stills me
To these pieces of universe we surmise
Are ours to discover and name.

Names that will be forgotten
Once their meaning dies and with us,
Drift up, up, up into His sky.

Image: Sky 2, Creator’s Celebration by Roxanne Dyer
https://roxannedyer.com/sky-oil-painting-art-gallery/

Song of the Week: Bjork “Army of Me” and a response poem: “An Army of Me Met Met at the Door”

An Army of Me Met Met at the Door

An army of me met me at the door
and kicked me in the balls
so hard they rolled off my tongue
like ben wa and dropped
like a teenager’s waking up one morning
with a sticky surprise

An army of me met me at the door
and laughed in my face
until i had to laugh right along with me
ha ha ha, roll on the floor, jackass
and look at the teenager you became
30 years after it was hip

An army of me met me at the door
and came in for a scotch
he had it neat, i had it messy
with ice that melted
into a puddle deep enough
to go and drown a little sorrow

An army of me met me at the door
and we decided to hang out a bit
turns out he was good company
and so we decided to become one
and just get on with it:
the rescue squad was exhausted.

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