Mood Indigo

The sky at first light
In the piney mountains, is
Splattered red and pink
As if it were painted by
A child, imagine
Tiny, fat fingers slathered
In vivid hues, fresh
And brilliant without tarnish

Giggles ride the breeze,
And modest hands make palm prints on
The indigo sky
The dawn is our child, its
Mist slow and serpentine