Skyfall

Today I saw the sky falling:

swirling icy

flakes

laid to rest on

cracked

dirt.

In my homeland, the sky does not fall

it weeps

and we dance

in mud puddles

made of tears

of reunion, of relief.

We do not write of the sun,

we sing of wetness

of bodies, of birth.

We do not write of clear skies,

we sing of clouds

of longing, of release.

But today, in this foreign land,

I saw the sky falling

quietly:

the earth

did not shake

under

the weight

and I wept

for the sun.

The earth froze slowly

holding on to

the fallen

pieces-

tightly but delicately-

as careless

feet

trampled on.

And when the sun

broke the sky

open

into blue and grey

still

the sky was

falling-

determined but trusting-

shimmering but fragile-

floating

through a space that

forever

cleaves.