I cry inside.
I see the sky
in robin’s egg blue.
Things of old
have turned to gold,
unglittering.
An alchemy,
an accretion,
to life’s masterpiece.
I fear I’m being asked
to sign my name.
There are nodding heads,
prayerful hands.
But, layered sheets of sleep
settle upon me.
Soon.
Aremyfeetofftheground 