The electrical lines cut the sky into strips of pale blue,
as the sun washed over them,
giving my earthly dome the appearance of
A mirror fractured.
Did I see my own face reflected?
I stared up, trying to pierce the atmosphere
By force of concentration, to see beyond
To God himself.
Was He gazing down now?
Like a detective outside an interrogation room,
Was He gazing down through this window-sky
That lets in, and never out… except by His consent?
If we confess, can we reach past the glass and be set free?
A bird settled upon a crack- a power line- my metaphor dashed.
She began to sing that sad, sad tune- a mourning dove.
Was it a confirming requiem she sang?
Did He send an angel in tawny array to say:
“Yes- I see.”
more by VK LYNNE
photograph by Sarah Babineau