Postcard from Above

It was a great, gray day
On the Pacific rim.
We pulled down a shade of sky
And fastened it to field
Knitting cloud and caldera
Heaven and earth
For some eternal minute
Like a single vertical stitch

On this great gray day
Our beacons broke the roof
And leaked out timeless truth
To satellites
That caught the sight
And beamed it back
To us. The postcard says,
Wish we were here.