Washed out was the sky.

Bouquets of pine needles lay their thin shaped thistle like fingers against fathoms of faded blues,

engraving green talons on tired, tired blue eyes, ………..eyes once blue.

Images embossed against the sheet of stained sky,

forever to be undone, like you …… and I.

Revealing the pine leaves images of what they are,

cast against the backdrop of lonely sky, the darkest universe, orbs of planets, and spiraling cosmic movements of what the stellar galaxies contrive.

This significant collective is an inelegant connective, a matter of a divine artistic conjunctive, born from the mind an intelligent elective.

Its all I’ve ever known to be, from an emotional perspective.

I sat there and witnessed a living shape,

adorning the atmosphere’s burnt out blue shade,

admiring the everlasting wisdom of sky-scape.