The Sky Has Hands Too

The sky has hands too. Only not everyone can see them. Between your fingers, touching your skin, it believes — maybe you'll notice one day. With fingers gone blue, it holds on tightly, so you won't lose heart. From the moment grandfather pulled up the turnip, to the day they finally say, "rest in peace." Choking on smoke and smog, it still gives you the joy of breathing freely. And it doesn't dare disobey God, hiding its tears inside the rain, unnoticed. The sky will cover the sun with its hands — so we can rest a little in the shade. It'll stroke it with clouds, wearing its own palms down to burns. It'll paint the sunset and the haze, so lovers feel closer to each other. At dawn it'll change the picture, smiling at the tired and the half-asleep. Raise your hand up boldly, spread your fingers just a little. Against the white background, you'll see — an angel stretching its wings toward you. Smile, for the first time, honestly, your eyes turned up toward the sky. It isn't quite the moment for words. I'll pray — hear me, Father.