Freshwater Literary Journal 2022

Roy Conboy This Sky These clouds in my sky were Inuit clouds a few short days ago.

They floated above freezing seas and snow, growing fierce with Arctic strength.

A few more days in the jet stream and they might be European or Chinese.

The stars in my night pattern the dark with dragon and twins.

They shine down alike on other planets where other beings look up and wonder.

On different crust self-same celestials burn pictures unimagined by us.

My clouds are your clouds, my stars our shared strangers, this moment one more comet fall— flame from afar, icy traveler.

We find ourselves in its burn, we find ourselves in its song.

Heart made of journey, celestial yearning.

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