The sky knows

I'm dull,

dusty like the brown sidewalk

from car fumes

and late drunken nights

and the fluorescent lights

that buzz away in bathrooms

Like cotton wool has been packed around

my ears and eyes

But there are the still evenings –

blues and the window open,

quiet moments under streetlights,

the way the breeze combs its fingers

through birches and aspens

and spruce

And the sublime sun,

horizon in pinks and purples,

as it dips low over oil derricks

and tailing ponds

The sky knows

even when we forget