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Sky Blue

an Ode to Catherine Cipot

 

It surrounds 

like a sudden stillness.

Wistful.  A whisper

of sorts.

 

How I know 

what a proper form is,

like a tree, or a stone,

or a house throwing shadows.

 

It surprises and comforts,

so it must be

an old remembrance,

then—

 

Perhaps of the beatitudes,

like the hands

that held me safe

and warm.

 

Where my mother

told me God looks

down up us, and

visits us from.

 

In the white moonlight,

angels of crystal

dust cold stars,

their lights dimmed,

 

They ring out softly.

A graceful interlude,

to remind of the color 

of your eyes, 

 

And how you

threw 

your little arms 

around the world.

 

Stephen Cipot