# [Poetry Outdoors](https://poetryoutdoors.substack.com/)

Skying

Birds on my chest. Sky  
like a face about to break  
bad news. Wordless drifting  
on a stream of unconscious  
thought. incomprehensible  
texture of an old damp coat.  
Inside, lights forget their own  
off-switches, lackadaisically  
senseless, produce  
a sweet halogen glare.  
Replace the sun with the un-sun. Constable  
used to observe the wet weather.  
tracing the shape of the clouds,  
called it skying. I can’t look up anymore.