Morning Sky
The first pale rays of the morning sun hide shyly behind the clouds
Rain boils in across the sky in slow sheets of cold relief
The placid, still lake, cut only by our wake, is like my thoughts,
calm,
still, only moved by the memory of your smile.
The sky is gray, then blue, dark, then light,
Almost as mesmerizing in its vast, deep, inscrutable malleability as
your eyes, staring down from the heavens, shifting from the
Gray of a tired day to the
Blue of the happiness that it is my joy to share.
The mountains stand proud before me, as I share in some part of the
Loneliness that the Frenchmen who named them felt.
But as our rain is tempered by the island sunrise breakfast that
awaits,
So is my loneliness tempered by the certainty
That you are waiting to smile at me, to hold me, to kiss me.
So for now, I will stare up at the cloudy Wyoming sunrise
And imagine myself falling into your eyes once more.
August 27, 1997