At night, Dora extracts the sun from the sky.
And sets the moon in its place.
She uses the back staircase to ascend,
but slides the winding banister down.
Tucked in the sky a blue door secures her tools,
if repairs need be made to a cloud
or flock of migrating birds.
Once a year she tightens the bolts securing the sky in place.
About a hundred years ago, the sky needed mending.
A tear, which unraveled a little.
Dora used red thread in the design of baseball stitches
and the repair holds firm to this day.
Dora knows the sky is capable of more than you think,
even if you think like Dali or Magritte.
copyright Kenneth P. Gurney 2018