Sky Fragments - Tyrone Ferguson

The sky does not mourn its breaking.
It scatters light into shards,
each one a memory of flight,
a whisper of vastness held in edge.
I gather what has fallen—
not to mend, but to reimagine.
The fractures speak in new tongues,
their silence shaped into form.
Within each splinter,
the sky still breathes.
Not whole, but holy—
transformed by descent.