When Light Leaves

Drenched in sea glass
blue, cloud contours faintly drawn,
the artist’s hand shakes:

hard to sketch
wisps of heaven.
Apricot skin sky seconds before

sunset, the orb slides silently
under the wave crests.
Colors deepen, myriad hues

and blues, there can never be
too many blues:
sea, sky, sea,

your eyes. Three grey clouds emerge,
stretch out lithely on an unseen shelf,
parallel to the measureless horizon.

One tiny white cloud,
top left corner from my perch
on the beach. A perfect triangle:

my line of sight the hypotenuse,
holding disparate pieces,
heart shards, splintering.

From Valparaiso Poetry Review, Fall/Winter 2021-2022: Volume XXIII, Number 1