Tread softly, for the sky is salmon
And the swallows have departed the nest,
Silhouettes rippling the clouds of satin.

Time drips, yet the sky will darken,
Hiding even the fish that leap brighter than the rest;
Tread softly, for the sky is salmon.

The air hangs humid with the musk of jasmine,
Pooling in midsummer memories, and from the west,
Silhouettes rippling the clouds of satin.

Deer can rest without fear of famine
But cannot ignore the future they hear; they must
Tread softly, for the sky is salmon.

Without heeding the sky, spectators examine,
Dissect, ignoring the swallows that wheel with zest,
Silhouettes rippling the clouds of satin.

They will be punished by the barren,
Flooded landscapes that lack what they tried to wrest;
Tread softly, for the sky is salmon,
Silhouettes rippling the clouds of satin.