by Pavel Chichikov
The zenith is the ceiling of a shrine –
Around the edges putty clouds and borders
Solidify, symmetrically in order
A mandala, but Christian, and the blue
Between is deep and blind, it waits
For whatever will descend to penetrate
Edge to edge the sky is stiff and tense,
The resonating, blue head of a drum –
Thunder strikes it rapidly and thrums
The zenith is a lambskin and the drum
Of planetary armies on parade –
If you could see them, you would be afraid
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.