I once read that our effort exerted to control life is like throwing paint into the sky and hoping it will stick. It inevitably falls to the ground and we might just keep throwing it harder or trying different types of paint, but of course the act itself makes no sense. The other morning, while in meditation, an idea for a poem based on this metaphorical visual popped into my mind:

Painting the Sky Blue

***

I try to paint the sky blue,

it’s not quite the shade,
or hue,

I want.

I try to paint the sky,
and once it’s finally my

favorite color,

then what?

What will I be
when the sky is the
just right color?

I try to paint the sky blue,
but I never really do,
so I give up.

Sad to begin,
but then enters in
Blue
for the first time.

***

How do you
try to paint the sky
blue?

What would it mean
to stop?

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