Morning sky

Morning sky
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Tall mornings, toasting bread, coffee-simmer
An open book, an optimum crow
Beaks open to sky
A murky sky, open to lengthy propositions
(The violinist who passed an audition
To play in front of Brochant subway called himself “Kalidas”)
The sky devoid of its tall claims
Is merely a mourning ground
For limits pruning themselves clean
Amongst wishes non grata
Claims walk this world, they devalue everything
And loss is a habitat in its own right
Sustaining us who are prone to
Adequation on cloudy mornings
Calculating dissipations that occluded
Judgments all summer
Among tribulations
A morning is all a slaughterhouse can claim
Of calm and untidy deaths
Emanating, permeating into local bakeries
Hands, gestures, values
Kinetics of tongues lost in translation
Of space and closed skies
And windows clouding the sky