I am pulled upward, daily,
To the skies
Where the love affair of my eyes
Harvests fusions of drive-by shapes
Their random designs spur spiritual senses,
I am suspended
Effortlessly in their broad brands of white, grays, and electric blues
Artistic holiness floods the horizon
Mornings’ champagne, noonday honey and evening rose golds
Silver the edges of feathers, wisps, castles and tadpoles
One birthday wish?
To bottle the clouds
In sea glass with an air tight cork plug
So I could say “hello” each morning to a white wash of creations
On my kitchen sill,
The sighs of coffee in steamy spots on the window
O clouds! How alike you are to my soul—
Wisped-tailed or tornado, white squalled or subtle
The streaming of my spirit turning in over itself
Where the discomforts of my faith
Tighten their grip on reality
I rest in the beauty and strength of your inherent nature
To move, sweep, and swirl
I see you sky!
Your beautiful radiant works
The magnificence you unfold minute by minute
A drop cloth of kinetic art
Does my faith look like you?
Do wonder and anticipation wake up your eyes?
Knowing that the very nature of your pleasure and beauty for my heart
Is by design,
Am I, too, your art?