Photo by Shack in the Swamp Photography |
that layer, like skin, this stratified sky,
impartial to none, to above nor below,
but do cry
they that sit upon Heaven's shelf
that cradle the daystar with their faith
and metamorphose into resplendent pillows
where retired halos lay
they that melt, blending smooth as cream into dusk
or fluff, like whipped thick egg whites
to be brushed in masses between the amethyst
cadmium, lapis splashes of eventide,
can you decide?
By Mary E. Lohan
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