Sprayday Epiphany

The sky is obscured as man is obscured
              by veils of exhalation ash
That makes the morning details smear
              like watercolor grays
But the sky projects a holy tint
              so man can know the truth
And the few who see the poisoned skies
              can maybe see god too.
And the rest who don't believe in eyes 

              or the power of mind or god
Are rewarded with another morning 

              inexplicably without rain.