Looking at Sky

My mind is stretched along horizons
so many, sewn together
as one marbled colour – an eternity
unremitting and irresolvable
bearing down and up on us
(silly little earthlings
lost children, their toys
searching-out eyes
and murderous know-nothings).
There are only clouds up there
I have searched among them
to no avail – no almighty father
could I find, nor the precious
soft strands of hair
of my humming-song mother.
In their wuthering heights I try
to lay down and rest
like a weary secret
soundless and needing sleep
before I retire; go to waste
turn grey.
Just odd bags in a dustbin
full of who-knows-what
and who-really-cares, anyway.

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