On the day I came home the sky split
It was not a Jesus on the cross split
no glory strew thunderheads peeled back to
reveal a blood red sun hung in the sky
like the bloodshot eye of God.
For me, the sky quietly pulled away from itself
the way the once wet pages of a book curl
apart as they dry. The split seam rippled
rainbowed absence overhead, breathed the quick
deep breath of a toddler asleep.
I was too fragile to bear the horizon
refracted, folded back against itself
the cardinal limits of my life multiplied.
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