Alleluia

If I stare at the tree-tops,

backlit by a summer blue sky,

brilliant, a stray cloud like a childhood

cloud resembling a dog’s head, billowing,

or a horse, a cartoon character

I strain to see now in adult years,

if I stare hard enough, I don’t see

the snow and ice below, frozen

and driving me, now, inside to gaze

out the window, here, at the tree tops,

playful, their arms raised and swaying,

thrown about in wild gesticulation,

“here, here, I’m open, throw it to me,”

or more reverent, as in some alleluia,

arms raised to the heavens, calling,

swaying to a music deep in their souls,

a music I strain to hear, can’t seem to hear,

but if I stare at the treetops hard enough,

oblivious now of ice and snow and passing years,

the music swells, my own arms raised and swaying,

“alleluia … I’m open, here, throw it to me,”

and the clouds become a pirate ship sailing off,

sailing away, taking me, too, beyond the treetops,

beyond the snow and ice below,

beyond the passing years.