by Debra Galloway
There is a place for sky inside.
I search for it but am caught,
in this tangled collision
of buildings, angled rusty bridges,
fast roads strapped onto other roads.
Is it gone now, too far buried?
It seems the heavens fell,
all light distant, consumed.
there is still air and gracious space
for watching clouds,
for standing on hills that reach to blue,
for pausing to smell the green,
nose up like a young farm dog.
Here is a place to roll like an old horse
who has found his home on the rough grass,
breath and body strong and loud.
So, I too stop to breathe and consider,
where is my place on this earth?
When it is found, all thoughts will fall away,
at peace with fencerow birds and quick grey squirrels.
I will linger to witness purple clouds meeting
dark evening ground.
My heart will stop for this beauty unbidden,
that will return me yet again into the blessed now.