Without Clouds

Without clouds, who would glow pink at sunrise
   or orange at dusk?
Who would dawn touch
   with her rosy fingers?

Without clouds, who would tuck us in
   on cold winter nights
   under the soft white
   of a thick blanket of snow?

Without clouds, who would soften the horizon
   on days sharp with heat
   when the blue sky
   slices
   into the land?
Who would keep the desert
   from bleeding red stone
   into the sand?

Without clouds, who would hide us
   from the lonely spaces
   between the stars,
   gently shrouding
   the emptiness?

Without clouds, who would breathe in,
   feeling the deep breeze
   above the sea
   or massage the mountain’s worn shoulders?
Who would caress the birds
   when they are too tired,
   too tired
   to fly?

Without clouds, who would shade the sun
   from our grief
   on sad and rainy days,
   wrapping his smile in close
   so none of the gray
   can seep through?

Without clouds, who would catch the moonlight
   before it falls
   tinkling
   and shatters
   twinkling
   into stardust?
Who would weave together
   the unraveling wisps of summer
   when the season’s stitching starts
   to come undone?

Without clouds, who would we watch,
   pointing,
   looking for shapes,
   and finding ourselves
   in the sky?

Jan 9, 2009