If all the lights blow out,
could we repair the sky?
Fastening the odd velvet
to the outer atmosphere
with tacks shaped like stars,
it was all ours
like a hair-breath,
like a lost ring from a telephone.
But, all alone,
I did sew up the bits
of invisible clouds
with silver thread
And as I rest my head
upon your chest
for a short rest,
the horizon
began to bleed
orange and red.
I woke up in the morning fog,
sweet and fragrant
like berry-green;
the sheen
of the twisted,
black-barked tree
blocked the perfect view
Of me and you
kissed by the sun,
and the loose, invisible
silver threads
are hidden in the queue
In the sky,
vast & unending
like love should be,
like a strong tree
growing in the green,
above the blue seas,
Below the sky,
we could fly
in our minds,
and repair the cracks
no one else could see.
If all the lights blow out,
could we repair the sky?