Draft 3: Writing in the Sky

Space is calligraphic
in the clouds that you draw
on the ground while writing
lines in the sky.
White puffs fill with empty

empty white.

Inside cosmic planes your pens dance
around hollow raindrops
waiting to take on your form,
demanding to take on that form
of clouds turning black with ink
from your veins,
you skin dark with glittering stars
and quills set in ink wells
to wait for your day and night,
for a cloud clear slate to prance past,
loose the empty space.
Drip, drip, drip, the page bleeds
your pitch.
It can't hold all the calligraphy
of silent days that ebb
until the page runs dry.