Sky Above Clouds
Christopher Buckley
My first memory
is of the brightness of light -
light all around -
a quilt of it, a patchwork
of red and white blossoms on blue
like these clouds down the evening sky,
their form, their budding lines . . .
My mind holds them
stretching away
above the day's cadenza,
that half hour when the hills
glow and lift on a last held note -
it is then that my mind saunters
over the cool, immaculate squares,
over the horizon line,
the next hill, where light flowers
across the finite trellis of this world . . .
Christopher Buckley
My first memory
is of the brightness of light -
light all around -
a quilt of it, a patchwork
of red and white blossoms on blue
like these clouds down the evening sky,
their form, their budding lines . . .
My mind holds them
stretching away
above the day's cadenza,
that half hour when the hills
glow and lift on a last held note -
it is then that my mind saunters
over the cool, immaculate squares,
over the horizon line,
the next hill, where light flowers
across the finite trellis of this world . . .