
Coming Home
A Cloud Voyage
Tears of ink and shrouded veils, and shards of oyster vapor trails…
Oh Earth, I feel you fall away as night begins to hide the day.
Cloister blue and purple mist, a horizon kissed by the breath of dusk…
Which is mountain? Which is cloud? Which way is up? Which way is down?
I cannot say.
For Gaya’s clay takes many forms.
And wisps transform from shimmered pearl to the shorn locks of the dusty sheep
while the musty peach of a late summer day gives way to another softly-breathing evening.

Erika Burkhalter 2019
*I scribbled this poem down in my journal in a whirl of creative bliss as I watched the sunset from the window of the plane while on my way back home from Zacatecas, Mexico. I have always loved airplane sunsets and sunrises, and this one did not disappoint.*

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Poem and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.
