Sky Creatures

William Doreski

The sky is the tautest membrane.
Amazing that airplanes can pierce it.
See how it bent the steeple
of the Methodist church? Fauna
creep along the upper surface,
which we can’t see from the ground.
Science has yet to identify
these sky-dwelling creatures,
which aren’t roaming saints or angels
but might date back to dinosaurs.
You rake the last brittle oak leaves
and ignore the flexing membrane
that sings with the teasing wind.
You aren’t curious about things
suspended between Heaven and Earth.
Young enough to learn, I focused
cheap binoculars on noonish sky
and saw pawprints coming and going,
flexing the blue with the weight
of animals I couldn’t name.
I saw them hide from the noise
of jet planes and helicopters.
My biology teacher warned me
that these timid sky-beasts resist
contact with the lower world
and could inflict fatal bites
on anyone who startles them.
You refuse to discuss these life-forms,
but if I had a long enough ladder
and the sense of balance I had
in youth, I’d climb up and look
at whatever lives up there
to make sure it isn’t human.

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors. His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.