soundless dark human glider moves high above

one bright line against fading light blue

passing migration of flapping black points

licorice-twisted power line

white wisps yellow

from the bottom edge creep black fractals
eager for the night

At 5am, the sky as it is, holds too many stars and possibilities for the day; the darkness makes me trip over my own feet.

At 7am, the sky as it is, Willie Nelson should be singing,... blue skies, nothin' but blue skies do I see, bluebirds singin' a song...nothin' but blue skies from now on...

At 9am, the sky as it is, sun's been burning and the neighbors have set their parakeets in cages out on a round picnic table, the umbrella down.

At 11am, the sky as it is, swirls of dead leaves and grim clouds announce the arrival of what might become a grey day.

At 1pm, the sky as it is, would make Van Gogh weep and reach for crow black, a canvas and a paintbrush.

At 3pm, the sky as it is, sprinkles icy holy water on school children walking home behind a woman carrying groceries and a baby, blanketed in yellow.

At 5pm, the sky as it is, you never know what purple or red palette the sun will set but it will always be in the west.

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