Sky, by Sara McClayton

The sky fell on the first day of summer. For weeks we collected the fragments. Small sheets of blue scattered the ground. We found splinters of sun in the crumbled forest. We thought the remnants would slide together like pieces of a puzzle, and my friends and I could climb the water tower to stitch the heavens. Instead, the blue shards shattered, and each cloud shred like cotton candy. The sun dissolved in amber rivulets. Now the stars press close as that face in a dream, the one you sense but cannot touch. Our hands cannot rip through the night.