The day the dome of the sky fell, the sky had been pure and light blue.
Then it shattered, falling like bits of flaky white about a shaken snow globe.
Slowly sliding down, the cocoon broke as glass.
And though, the visual trauma, momentarily, made everyone’s impatience subside,
the Universe cared not, in spite of everyone, everywhere thinking It did.
“You seem eerily confident since the event,” he said, nine days after.
“The sky has fallen. My insecurity shattered. Confidence is all that remains,” she replies.