April sky: thin uniform
of silver—
the kind
which is both
luminous and somber,
everywhere
and nowhere at
the very same time—
might yet darken
and descend, cursing
afternoon with evening,
or crack to wide blue
and unfurl its
smiling riches—
depending
on whether one
very certain word
which is, at this moment,
being whispered
down here
by one wounded person
to the ear
of another
has been willfully filled
with scalpels
or stitches.
