The Sky

The steeples will stand and stab it infinitely,
on this cold clear day the roofs of the palaces
are so determined in their lines
and keep indenting it without leaving a trace.
The ochre and rose walls in the sunlight
are fully displayed swallowing in brightness
waves of laughter and cries.
Your gaze follows the long pier,
a blade at rest in the tearing blue,
memories cut in and crumble, sting and swarm away,
and the sun stands alone,
you sense a mighty smile
sprawled in its largeness
sorting out myriads of just hushed, scattered tokens,
with no hurry waiting also for your heart and eyes.

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