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The sky is the sea of the gods
The clouds, the snow of the angels

The trees are for us to do with as we like
and the sea, an open inquisition.
Still, you are confined within the
walls of yourself,
your desires and your steam.
The ragdolled child beside me
whimpers in reckless precision.
What an attention seeking whore I sigh inwardly as I pick the ragdoll up,
off the ground
and into my arms.
Of course it stops whimpering,
settles in and falls asleep.
Like I said, an attention seeking whore.
I look back, then
up at the sea of skies
and snowy clouds.
The army of birds spread out their wings
as they sun scotches my forehead.
It is at such moments I
think of you,
not as a whole
God no, certainly not,
just that piece of
perfect wrinkled-eye smile
and calming clichés,
I defer to believe.
Maybe you are disarrayed
Allow me to rephrase,
I think of you whenever I
look into the sea of the skies.
The ragdoll is still peacefully asleep,
what a contented little thing.
If only.
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