The Sky Forgot Its Name

The sky forgot its name today—
it stumbled in a hush of gray,
spilled itself across the street,
where puddles hold the ghosts of feet.

A girl with hands like folded wings
whispers secrets into rings,
spinning silver in the air—
she swears there's something hiding there.

A boy who never learned to stay
watches shadows peel away,
counting cars like quiet prayers,
his heart a pocket full of stairs.

And somewhere past the tangled wires,
the aching bones of old desires,
a window hums in shattered blue—
it knows the things we never do.

The sky forgot its name, and still,
it bends to meet the tallest hill,
pressing whispers to its face—
a fleeting touch, a vanished trace.

And we, below, with tattered dreams,
hold our breath between the seams,
waiting, waiting, ever true—
for something lost we never knew.