Between the Sea and Sky

We look at the same sky but have so many different explanations, thoughts, and imaginings

Isabelle Wei is a writer and literary editor. She loves poetry, pastries, and painting, although not necessarily in that order. In her spare time, she enjoys writing and reading stories that reflect her love for the natural world.

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At dusk, violet veils bring
moonshine, a congregation
of stars. Jade rivers weave 

between midnight blues
and rosy champagnes.
The sky is a samovar of
color. 

Whale by the waterfront
watches green stars roll
down the sky, daydreams 

about Quviasukvik. Gelid
waters flow, hang 
fluted ribbons in every 

room. The sky is
silent but for spirits of
the 
dead, leaping into 

being, and out, lost—
endless translation in
season. Red: deep 

love, sacrifice. Blue:
deep sea,
melancholy. Green:
deep greed, a 

garden of tranquility.
Sorry sorry sorry the
ribbons gush in plumed 

profusion. Or is it 
be aware, may you 
live long and healthy, 

or perhaps, will you 
marry me? Prismatic
spirits of a phantom 

incarnate. It is feeble,
It is chameleon. It 
says everything 

and nothing at all.

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