Wounds that meet
 
the flesh of the sky was branded, rising
in ridges and rippling outward, 
its wound pinked with night’s finest powder, 
making tender what was once a bold
and stubborn shock of blue. lurching
in a separate cluster, I watched
the night’s skin spread as the minutes
melted. the violence held on even
as the outer edges shuttered down 
to deep blue.   
 
my own ridges are not so apparent;
what brands, does so in darker places.
welted as though decorated. a simple,
silent beating filters upward
through the layers of tissue
and strains towards the sky to touch
lips, sending gusts of air against
the fluttered flight of birds, caught
in the path of red hot poker
destined for a limpid bit of blue.