On a spindle of lightning twine

hopes and dreams into a

thread of Maybe.

Build a loom of clouds,

their puffy whiteness or sweeping gray

weaving Maybe with a

shuttle of winds.

In a kettle of dye mix

the angry color before a storm,

the periwinkle blue of an autumn day, and

the black depth filled with living stars.

Dip in the cloth of Maybe,

stirring with the spoon of a tornado.

Lift the cloth of the Sky that May Be,

hang to dry,

and wait.

With a needle of thunder

sew a hem of breezes to the cloth's edge.

With ribbons of faith

tie the cloth to your wrists and ankles.

Step outside and

leap.