I’m not sure who the sky is
when it’s not the sky
but I think I know this river
was once a beautiful woman
viewed from above all bodies
of water look like someone
you once loved and the color
of the trees only matters
when there are trees at all
and sometimes I imagine
that we can solve everything
design cities that fit into
the Earth instead of making
the Earth fit into them
but mostly we sit at drawing
boards and paint scenes
of decay because that is what
we know and sometimes I think
I can see the sky but
it might just be a person
and I’ll miss the sun most
when the clouds weep the ghosts
of rivers for days on end
