The Sky
The Sky
Holding the sky above our heads,
separating it from the earth -
it's an important job
and someone has to do it.
Only the most reliable
and aspiring souls
are given such employment.
Their task to make us feel
that something must be up there,
beyond beyond,
cloaked
in white or grey or blue.
Distracted by the birds,
the agitation of the topmost twigs,
the souls ache. Ache
from the pressure of the sky
reprinted without permission, poetry by Moniza Alzi
This poem is taken from PN Review 141, Volume 28 Number 1, September - October 2001
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Love is all you need. 
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