The Sky

Thank God for the sky.
Over us high
it rides and reaches,
simpleness teaches.

Once the amazing sun
let the dark heavens run
with sparks in showers
and this of ours.

And a forthcoming grace
grew grain of this place;
sank tortuous roots,
raised wild birds’ flutes;

eked out from embers
such names, such numbers,
such works – a man’s eyes
glance up in surprise.

It hangs, a pool
of blue. Clouds school
the deeps, ride high.
Thank God for the sky.