Road salt spattered on the windows,
masterpiece of winter graffiti,
cannot hide the blue outside.
Pale as robin’s egg it deepens as
it stretches to the cloud kissed
vaulted sky, dreaming in cold
benevolence on all of us,
buses and trucks, highways and signboards.

My gaze flies up the window,
soul follows, but I cannot reach
the sky outside—road salt reality
blocks my way.

My wings are bold as the sun-dark sky,
blue as the dreams of songbirds and
sea gulls, light as the crystals that
wisp overhead:

Open the window.