July 1, 2013

Lumbering clouds
Crawl by slowly on
A canvas the color of
The Virgin Mary’s dress:
Pure and sacred.
Those who have never
Crossed into Montana
Will never understand
Why it is called
Big Sky Country.
It’s less an issue of
Scale, and more an
Issue of comprehension;
It’s not the sky that is big
It’s us who are small.
Nothing like the
Utter vastness of
Nature to make one
Feel insignificant.

You squinted your eyes,
Making your nose
Crinkle up in that way
That I always adore.
You furrowed your
Brow, about to say
Something important:
“The world seems so
Much more romantic
In my head.”
I thought to ask what
You meant, but only
The wind had any
Answer for you.



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