Bright Blue Sky

Sometimes I stare up at the blue sky.
Just blue.
No clouds.
Pure brilliant blue that makes your eyes doubt themselves.
And I can almost smell the dirt.
The way it smelled in the middle of summer,
Not a single cloud,
Roasting in the California dirt.
I can smell its scream for water.
The way it was always thirsty
But it could not drink fast enough when the rains came.
I can look at a pure blue sky
And paint across it a complete story map
Of who I was there.
What rolls I played.
How I was begging for things,
Screaming for things
And never being able to drink fast enough when they came.
So even here
In the middle of a Utah winter
I can smell the summer sun of California.
And just as I did then
I cannot drink it fast enough.