Roiling
Toiling
The story above me flashes with life, beauty, danger, chase, and thrill
Births, life, and deaths can flash past at the speed of light.
Or seem to take a millennia.
Swollen with sorry
Anorexic with ecstasy
Flying high
Overwhelmingly low and oppressing
The stories that fly above me in shades from blue to black, pink to flaming red, from a chaste white to a brooding gray.
The sky reflects the mood of the earth, and yet ignores the petty arguments of mere mortals below.
Infinite, untouchable, close, reachable.
If I lay on the ground, and reach my hands up—maybe, just maybe---I’ll trail my fingers through the rivers in the sky.