The Painter
by Claire
Science calls it scattering
this phenomenon
coloring the morning sky
like the middles of the grocery store tulips
unfurling in my kitchen.
I believe in science, but
I'd rather imagine God with a paintbrush
dipping into pools of lavender
brushing the seam of horizon
dabbing pink at the edges
swirling in white.
He's unafraid of the blank canvas,
impermanence of
this big domed sky.
In twelve hours or so
he'll do it again.
This time
with fiery orange, red and yellow,
scattering a star-studded
sapphire blue over top.
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