THE SKY AND I

American flag
hoisted high by the curb
noisily rattling the glaring sun
two days to Columbus Day.

One autumn leaf,
absent-minded,
joining the ground by my feet.

Car motors, traffic-ribboned,
drowning out leaf sound, bird-song.

How do I seem to you,
leaf, flag, bird?

Ground,
are you waiting for me?

Sky , am I you?
Do we see eye to eye?

Tell me, I’ll listen.

Not a cloud in the sky,
but blue and white stripes
couragiously daring a modern design.

Then that straight, piercing line,
left by a jet,
broken in two
by a featherstroke pattern.

Say, does that line
underline pattern, or thought?

Is there a difference?

Time passes.

As if in answer,
a round blue eye
within a strictly white-socketed sky
comes right up close to the tree tops, winking;
I could almost swear it was blinking at me.

Soon, sky,
your gold-spattered night eyes
shall firmly close mine.

While I dream
we are both day and night,
brown-eyed and blue.

Enveloped by you
I’m extending myself
while my great inner essence
embraces you too.

It’s my inner self speaking,
through your lofty image,
speaking to me
through you.