You can’t tell from far

if the scraps of blue are torn away

or will whirl out a new firm sky

if the veils of white
come up from nothing
or go down to nil

if the foam clouds will
be born as faces or fade
back in the red depth

if the air-stones grow
to cool planets or fall down
into a black hole

rolling to or fro
between white wings and black horns

– you can’t tell from far

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