United

Clouds aren't white, aren't puffy,
as they say, but splattered with
color and texture, heavy with it all-
the blues, the purples,
the grays and pinks that don't swirl
but casually blend, socializing
in and endless ballroom of blue.

The miles of browning grasses
are crisp, distinct, when close,
smooth as peanut butter far away,
and bordered by distant mountains
that seem to hug close to the
miles of ruler-flat land,
even as they jut away from it.

Lying flat against the sky
the earth reaches to the horizon
as if beckoning a lover.
The air, the empty space,
melts away. Shu collapses;
Geb and Nut embrace.
The end of the sky meets
the end of the world; the earth
makes love to the heavens.