Written this morning, as I watched the sky go from cloudy to blue:

Sky

Nothing’s more important
than these few moments
alone with you, emerging,

starting to kick inside me.
You’re out there, too
in the wide wide sky:

today’s is a Titian
over brick Flatbush
apartment houses,

red pyramidal rooftops.
I’m remembering Florence,
and flying on a scooter

(what was his name?)
my hair streaming
in the Florentine dusk

or across his pillow,
next to a table, laden
with eight vials of cologne.

All that mind-losing
in sex and art
followed by carbonara

and the plane ride home.
Buckled in by a window,
the sky’s fickle shape

kept shifting.
Now, I’m hanging onto
its limitless blue

while I can.
Sky,
don’t slip away

while words ignite
on this ray
of sunrise.

--Carla Drysdale