I wait for you, my darling sky.
I wait for you to pull out your palette,
inviting the world to stop breathing
just for a moment, to look up and out,
to breathe in the glory, the energy.

You hide your son so well, covering
his flesh with a shroud of color– lemon
yellow, orange, a shade of blue I’ve
never seen. Salmon, peach, names
not invented.
And you ask me from 475 miles away

why I choose to stay in this Midwest
wasteland, why I gave up bones and blood
for prairie lands and dangerous winds
that blow barns past the bedroom window.

This is it, my sky, my daily salvation,
my elixir, the way She takes me by the hand
and leads me into deep sleep and dreams.