Real Big Sky

 Under the inky dome, stars wedded to it

My creation takes shape and form

I brought you forth and lived through you

And you became my crutch, night after day

Injecting you into my dreams to sleep with a smile

So shackled this imagination, so pallid its complexion

It aborts any sense of renewal, of vulnerable redemption and meaning

So, burn down what you worship

and worship the immolation, for this fire sustains life

And prepare to toil, to sow, to sculpt.

For the rivers carry a new song, and the sky deem us wondrous

Only if they shelter creations anew. 

Dedicated to Emma Ruth Rundle.