NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen

What happens when you look at the morning sky and wish you could paint a blueness just like that.

Dark deep endless
the sky last night filled
with stars and planets and myth
This morning, a blue bowl –
a perfectly executed wash
saturated zenith fading
subtly down to the horizon
where the hunter hides
in the shade, cooling his dogs
and himself until night returns.

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