The winter light stays low enough,
even here,
that the clouds are often coloured
by sun and dust all day
so that it is the sky which becomes
the land of a million folds
and hidden contours.

Now, the sense that it too
can be traversed
if only you are willing
to hold dust for a little while, to be
filtered, coloured, slowed down
as you wander through our bright air
and then burn up again
into endless space,
set free from the dreams
of gravity and time.

Surely in this is a sign
for those who reflect
and, reflecting, return
to unspeakable
beauty, truth.