Standing astride the roof of the world,
I stare at the vacant blue bowl of the sky.
Marred by spare clouds like pillow stuffing.
And as they dance across the somber sky,
I wonder if you see what I see.
Half a world away,
What do you see in the sky?
Does the sun hang like a bronze coin?
Distant and warm?
Or is it a god’s first?
Pressing down mercilessly?
And when the sun is gone,
What can your eyes see?
Do the stars hang clearly in the firmament there?
As they do not here?
How I wish I could see through your eyes,
And you through mine.
That we may share each other’s skys,
Together despite the miles.
