The Sky at Winter

If Peace was a color

It would be the sky

At winter

Sapphire stone, distilled

Poured out and into

the bowl of creation.

Lit from behind

From the flaming fires

Of a million years before

Flickering still

On the deep side

Of the universe

And from the orange sun

Long set

But still simmering

Hidden behind the hills

Toasting the edges

Of night.

If Peace was a color

It would be the sky at winter,

Waiting

While we gingerly

Step within footprints

Long embedded

Into the frozen ground

The sky at winter

And the wind

Lifting the edge of our collar

Leaving the slightest scratch

A feather weight, really

Whispering in our ear

Peace…

Pulling the thread

Daring us to turn

Desiring only

That we look up.