Sometimes the sky

Sometimes the sky is as light as a wafer and floats upward. I don't dream of anything and more. Inspiration wears the armature of errant soldiers. I am here. I am gone. My love coils glassed and silvered abstracts. I am lost both inside and out. When the dull footsteps are done the patterned leaves design an other road. It screams. The washers' chorus lends the boats that gently rock the river's ways a chord to ring the neck wrong waves astounding. I leave the mouth of the sky to straddle rocks and wear them away but slowly. Inside, beneath the polished glands of time are crabs, whose irritated mouths I wipe free of worries with a finger, gentle as rain.