A Dropped Piece Of Sky Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A knock and hammer bang
on the back door,
an azure polyester floor
of a hanging, swinging sky
raising its croaking voice.

A louder frog's voice bounces
on from the stretched hand
of distant thunder
lurking in a growing thicket
of graphite, darkened clouds.

But air brightens and lightens
with a fatter bird of sun,
its wingspan sweeping through
with flying sprayed feathers
splashing a light of gemstones.
(ii)

Morning cyan sky glass
has broken into a spider.

A gold lizard of a cloud
slithers after the sprayed animal
splayed to drift slowly across.

Crawling, floating
with a cracked hue of fire
and dandelion,

as silver and crystal lines
float along
with a canary tail in shards.

(iii)

What cerulean sky's sheet ripped
into bleeding veins
runs through silver flesh,
as a wind flies by
with a white napkin to dab it off.

Sun's powdery make-up
gives air's topmost ceiling
a shaking face of broken wrinkles,
a glassy temple and cheeks
splitting into bright crystal shards.

In the soft hands of wind,
shards of crystal sky tumble
on the garden's hedges
and kneeling creeping shrubs,

the sun sweeping through
in its swelling wingspan
splashing crystal ribbons of light
on butterscotch flowers.

(iv)

I lean over my window
And see Diangha and Feka trail
Anchang, as he strolls close
to the spot harboring
the fallen piece of bright sky,

as a fire of sparks and specks
spreads across a row of daffodils
and hibiscus and roses
flipping out feathers of a glow.

Humming in the hot sun
by the spot holding the piece
of sky, as it explodes
into a winged fire of spiraling
eurema and red glider,

waved yellow and gold flags
of swarming butterflies
not bursting into the full glow
of flying saw-edged egret flames.