Red Sky at Morning

I stand on the hands
of generations who came before.
I hold their history.

Caught in morning light,
sometimes pink sometimes blue,
I study the path ahead.

I climb to the peaks,
slide slopes back to the ground,
believe in destiny.

My rose-colored glasses
change the hues of memory,
make paths of hope where

only empty space
was before. I’ll carry the stories.
I’ll trust the moon.