Thin Shroud of Blue

Among the innumerable strange
Twists of our proximate fit
To what we suspect is reality,

Have you noticed that a pure blue
Afternoon sky by seeming depthless
And uniform also seems endless,

While a night sky with a few lamb clouds
And a slice of moon feels comforting,
Even companionable, even close to you?

How do you do that? The night’s huge,
And the blue sky’s a scrim that obscures it
With a gossamer veil jets poke through.

It’s reversed when an orange, urban moon,
Emerging from a skyline, itself looks huge
Because we exaggerate the vertical

On any horizon. (Take a picture
Of a steep mountain. Little bump
Against big sky. The picture knows

It’s true.) Do such banal observations
Seem trite, seem insignificant to you?
You’re doing it again, then, aren’t you?