Michigan Sky

Velvet isn’t always black or dark or deep.
Sometimes it’s sharp and clear and high
Like a Michigan sky.

The loveliest silk washed o’er the high ways,
Frosty tops and homespun bellies
Bulging with the lake-weary winds
Turning home to the dry prairie tickles.

My green soul leaps with the cherry-throated grosbeak
To meet the goddess of the Air full-stretched across my face.

The lush season of the sunbeams is nigh
And many a pliant wood rejoices in the un-freeze.
Wrap us up in cattail down and tuck into the summer.

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