2


As people decay art grows
Then drops. The sky
Not basically altering
Is always blue, high, clear
A transparent thin medium
Etching grain and dust
Fascination stops

It is a pretence
Virtually certain
A trick of the light
Suspiciously flawless

The blue haze of unknowing
Just different from purity, pain
Perfection: arising through time
Vastly slow and irregular
Anomalous and intermittent

Eventually drifting everywhere
Like aphids sparkling in the air as perpetual sunshine
Or fish
Small dark minnow darting
A swift moving cloud
Poised in their fluid
Clear and everywhere.