The Sky Tonight

It’s a water balloon you squeeze
It’s coloring outside of the lines
It’s the assurance of music
The push to prove
The rules won’t hold.
 
Like anything.
 
It’s the cold hard empty fact
Against the made-up musts
That soften, enflame, and fill it.
 
It’s the vacuum of the isolated word
It’s the lack of the vacuum.
It’s holding on. It’s letting go
In awesome, awful, autumn wonder.
It’s the coloring of leaves
The lingering lightning’s
Silent thunder.