Tonight the Sky Tonight the sky holds every blue in His quiver. Well, almost every blue — not electric, not azure, but periwinkle at horizon’s edge, and at sky’s top, indigo. In between some almost-greens blemished turquoise and light sage, an olive grown dark with age, fading tropical dream. A black romance of branches deepens the darkbright sky, a pause when even doubters may wonder, well, what are the chances? They used to wonder, anyway. But by the time Arnold noted its long, withdrawing roar, faith was dying. Long before his moon-blanched goodbye note, shining rationalists vented their spleen, eager to garrote the clergy, always primed (as the Tyger growled) to mock on. And even now, finders of the selfish gene refute the unseen others see, preaching with robust faith release from the peace that surpasseth, from the serene streets of Augustine’s city, the Indus River’s god-crammed shores, the Buddha’s benevolence, ecstasy of the Sufi, Jeremiah’s splendid fury, Christ’s perfect love unfurled.
Alec Solomita’s stories and poems have appeared in many publications, including The Adirondack Review, The Southwest Review, The Galway Review, Algebra of Owls, The Blue Nib, Bold+Italic, and The Lake. His poetry chapbook, Do Not Forsake Me, was published in 2017. He lives in Massachusetts.
