Why the sky wanted me as its muse

I cannot say

I’d not wish to betray its lifelong, headstrong whimsy?

In its own whirlwind of Days, I was its only constant?

Pressure, and I the soft voice that reduced the storm of it all?

Mercy, it contained and it wanted to rain upon me?

Surely it cannot be a great love for me. Or…can it be?

On the possibilities, I pretend to opine

But I cannot say