All that makes Us Human. . .

There is always a clear blue sky in my dreams.
Stretching out past the sharp ends of blue plastic horizons,
Bending around the green curve of earth; and back again.
Here and there cotton ball clouds seem to float,
Like river foam in the sky.
There is almost a hurried feel to the endless sky,
As its currents push and pull those cotton balls into Rorschach sculptures,
Of weird little day dreams, seen frame by frame.
Its always a good dream.
The ones where the sky seems so big,
And I seem so small.