Sky, a Life

Dawn from bricked rose cliffs,
The sun shows three swords
That shear through the clouds.

It’s as if the sky
Wants to play the part
A mage might give it,

A host of grave signs
That mean things for folks
Whose lives may be swift

But aren’t those of swifts
And can’t be a part
Of lives in the sky.

It’s as if, but not.
The spears of life shift.
By noon, it’s just hot.