The sky was filled with innumerable lanterns lighting, opening like eyes, in a rush of wind across the night’s vast forehead. — Annette Marie Smith
pulled its lacy cloud covers up to its chin
as it snuggled
deeper into the cushy sky
on my way in to work this morning. — Annette Marie Smith
The canopy of the sky is weather stained
and dirty this morning.
But I know
that right behind that heavy circus tent top
is another layer of sky, light and sheer
and dotted with sequins, just waiting.
You could call my optimism a hole
in the gloomy heavens
that lets me peek through to the other side. — Annette Marie Smith
The summer night is sleepwalking again
beneath the eerily lit night sky.
The moon is his dream, impossibly luminous
and usually out of reach.
But tonight the sleepwalker reaches
arms as long as shadows up, up, up
over his head and pulls
the golden moon into his arms
at the same time as she is coaxing him back
into their heat lightning bed. — Annette Marie Smith
Prune it back to its bare branches of fear?
Graft something like courage, such an old fashioned word, into the very heart of that old tree?
Could even one green tendril of hope
come from such an endeavor? If you watered it with compassion, if you fertilized it with understanding?
I am willing to get my hands dirty trying. — Annette Marie Smith