We were thinking and talking about the sky. It was a dark room, curtains drawn. We felt like we needed to be separated from it to truely appreciate it and that somehow this seperation would spark our memories of the vivid skies of our youth or gray dripping skies above the graves of our loved ones but so far all it had done was left us staring at the cigarette smoke swirling around the dusty light globe hovering above us like a tired sun.
Bill thought he could jump start the thing with a freeform poetry kinda thing:
“Sky up too dark for blue
Sky crash across a slowmo meltdown transformer between two directions …….”
( he stared off someplace , like he was looking in the eyes of a fairy king swinging a hypnotic pendulum )
– long pause. –
“Floating backwards easing into gray mountains falling
Blotted shapes from maps
Light a……… juxtapose
Bill stood up and spun around
, finally he fell into the big brown leather chair as if he had just run a Marathon.
We walked outside and laid down on the ground and watched the smoke fall across the ridge. We would talk of this day,this sky that pushed us into the ground
when our love for it had grown.