Teetering upon a step ladder
The sky blue drips down my raised arm
Over my head.
I am making
A home for clouds, winds, birds and dragons.
I wonder if this faint hue of paint (the color of all above, hot July afternoon),
The delicate, airy, transparent wisp of it
Can fool my little boy
Into thinking that he might be able to see
The drifting constellations just beyond the
Painted layer of firmament,
As he lay upon his back,
Staring up from his pillow?
I hope he considers the possibility that
I may have painted the universe for him too,
Upon the hidden 2×4 rafters above–
Just an extra stretch to the plywood beneath the roof
Where planets, spiral arms and twinkling myths
Wait to be discovered.
But even as the reach of my brush heaps puffy cumulous into the clear,
And trails out vapors of cirrus that tangle up in the corners,
I see that I am slowly becoming covered with it
As I create it,
For this sky,
Streaks of it lining my arms,
In my hair,
Upon my cheeks,
Falls as fast as I can raise it.
And I can see right through it.
I’ll try to tell him about this one day.
The reason I erased the ceiling.