Between the Two Skies

                                                                 today did not start this way

curled up under the weight of grey whose dimension echoes into hands

                                                                 the sound of underway, always

                                                                 the turning, the retracting, the

passing into and passing through the

passing away of the single point, the

elsewhere a pink sky, still dark ridge

ashes on fingers of what was, now is

                                                                  that feeling of the closeness

between the two skies, the tenses, the peonies no longer there but here

                                                                 some other sound, other color

                                                                 the after, absence of a syllable  

here a darkening, another rain

the dendrites of water moving

the seeing out and the seeing

through though not the feeling

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It was sun and stillness at the base.  As I approached the crest of the exposed ridge I was met by accumulating grey-black clouds and sheets of distant rain, and a thru-hiker who, while looking back at the now ominous and blurred ridge, panted, "it's a bit scary up there."  Knowing that just as much exposed space rested before as it did after, I decided to carry forth, albeit running and scouting possible rock retreats from lightening.  It was alone and in the circulating clouds that I saw to the east this harmonious dissension in the sky.  And it was in that moment of dark/light that I recalled the dis/connection between trying to recall a feeling and in present feeling.       

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