Celtic Skies

The sky is indifferent, the sky is kind

always reaching in, uninvited

with long white

cloudy fingers prising

open planks of sternum, one by one

chest rivets pop and sigh – 

taste the silver and the blue

tints run, inking through time

eyes feather soft and wide

to gulls glide, natures guards

mount impartial in this space –

the sacred in between 

stratosphere and ground

where

cumulus and stratus oversee proud

and free

as druids once served.