The Day of Hurling Our Thousand to the Sky

You would critique this Polaroid photograph

Saying that it offers only a foreclosed and faded
Beauty that it upsets you such that speech can’t

Quell the ache a single tree set upon a blank

Horizon of wheat and in the foreground ignoring

The camera a boy and a girl stand where the field

Begins beneath a birdless sky nearly as blue as your

Eyes and smeared by three searingly white clouds

Why does everything take on horrendous meaning

When I think of spending time with you?

I don’t know what happened to make the boy

Cry nor why the girl stares bearishly at him but

You can tell that there’ve been many

Clouds in that sky and so many other things