To come under the blue sky
march north to the mountains.
Few steps into the odorous pine forest,
the wind is hushed – silence
is the truth of noise.
Flaming scarf of the sky
enfolds time. Over towering column
of air light slants at a degree that
– green, blue, red –
into ochre. Disrobe
a life time – cleave it away as one would a garment,
a button at a time – the last touch of fabric,
warmth of the palm of the loved one
as breath turns to air.