“From out of the clear blue of 
the western sky comes Sky King … ”

Good Sky King, dressed
decades in scalloped gray
cowboy clothes, a Stetson,

forever flying with niece
and nephew, bright Penny
and Clipper old law forbids

becoming lovers, the noble
uncle, gentle kind stepfather
righting wrongs the wingless

boldly never face, sometimes
I hear your Songbird’s silver
twin engines sing, searching

dark heaven of our wrecked
world smart captains ditched
us in where still all survivors

wander lost, forsaken under
threatening sky, bleak years
listening for a Cessna’s hum,

one brave pilot whose name
of bluest azure eclipses each
cloud this evil wind provides.