on this January day,
sky flaunts willful, windborne
clouds. They resist the usual
palette – all but shades of gray.
At my window I return
to coffee and notebook,
like a fisherman intent
on what hides in the sea.
Hearts beat,
his and mine and the fishes,
and the rhythm
of unwritten poems.
Then, for a minute,
sky accepts the brush
of dawn.
While fish and poems
swim in secret places,
a hint of color snags
me at my desk,
the fisherman on the beach.
For a minute
between slate and silver,
we look up.
The sky is washed
pale pink,
and this is all
we need.
Title from “Revelation” by Jenny George
