Moon Sky, a poem

The Sky is it’s own person.

Wandering where it will.

Yet, wherever Sky finds itself, there is a dance with the trees and mountains below.

Must one turn upside down to know the secret of this rooting to the heavens?

To place one’s feet in the stars,

One’s mind reaching into the hollows between roots,

How do our hands reach across divides when the weather moves so quickly?

But there’s nowhere to get lost,

Only to remember the stillness and the dance of each shadow,

The many stories of the clouds that race beneath the moon,

That neither start nor end.