Depth

From the porch roof
the sky is everything.
Sunset tints the clouds orange
and violent pink until they seem to burn
too close to the sun
but I’m looking east,
at lavenders and pale blues,
the glowing lining of a leaden sky.
I’m watching the weather leave
instead of approach, the darkness
instead of the light.
Out here it gets dark and stays so;
no house lights, no cars, no lamps
to break the beauty of the sky.
The tarry shingles, still warm
under my hands, bind me to earth
keep me firmly grounded.
Far off I hear a siren—probably
the county sheriff catching a speeder,
(damn pilgrims, rushing through my promised land)
but my stomach clenches anyway, sends
a silent prayer into the dusk:
Please don’t let that be
someone I love.
The storm clouds are gathering
over the lake, massing slowly.
It will rain somewhere else tonight.

Laura Buermann