infinite sky

under finite skies we plotted and planned
for our new tomorrows wrapping up regret
in a box labelled ‘the dead past’ then
firing it into the heart of a sun
no bigger than a wish hanging off in the blue

the universe held its breath

while we dissected the skies and rearranged them
layer upon layer stretching out further than
an arrow flies painting over the twinkling holes
with burning gas and inflating
the cosmos with a bicycle pump

and we saw that it was good