The sky is such a soft blue today,
like watercolour seeping from a loaded brush,
creeping across the horizon.
If I could I would lay my head
down upon its lap,
close my eyes, and drift
eider clouds tickling my nose
as they scud past.
I’d look down at naked poplars,
their skritchy-scratchy calligraphic limbs akimbo;
mute supplicants awaiting the slow explosion
of green ruffles and pollen confetti.
A time-lapse collapse into rustling
sighs but oh, my,
the sky is such a soft blue today.