You'd Think You'd Hear the Sky

on a clear day.
Giant corn-popper.
All those short wavelengths 
of light, the blue ones, 
wilder than bumper cars.
They ricochet 
off one molecule, 
then another, random 
craziness-in-blue
as far as one can breathe.
Farther, even.
You look up through the layers, 
a bottom fish, 
allow this restlessness 
into your lungs, 
your arteries.
Still no sound.


You'd Think You'd Hear the Sky, by Margi Berger


Penobscot Summit Looking East. Very windy and chilly!