Writer's Sky Poem by Hans Ostrom

a small moleskin notebook
somehow exhumed itself
from a mound of scribbling--

the soft cover sky blue--
except with lavender
lurking, teasing the blue.

it reminded the scribbler
of summer Sierra Nevada
skies. on certain days (no

days are certain) : cloudless,
the sky looked almost too
blue and weirdly made me

yearn prospectively, wanting
never to leave some kind of
paradise in my mind--

known of, not visited...
recalled taring at that particular blue,
and painted like a vast ceiling

above pine trees. and then, yes,
drop the gaze, move on to work
for wages--dust and heat--

pounding nails, digging dirt,
wheeling mortar; or maybe just
sleeping off a migraine and writing

about it later in a blue notebook.

2021