I built a sky of my own on my bedroom ceiling.
This sky is bold & bright & blue and I know
the birds will fly away, but it’s okay.
Sometimes the clouds make slippery patterns
on the walls and I long for birdsong to send me to sleep.
So I build the sky again. It’s wild & grey & flashes with light
when you don’t expect it. I didn’t expect the grey I found.
It’s cat-soft & silky & I wear it next to my skin like bedsheets.
I know the birds will come back. Now I sing to them too.
I’ll build them a new sky straight out my window, throw
out a blanket to cloak the world in, night-bright & pillow-blue
& silence. Maybe this time the birds will stay.
