Blue sky thinking

For once there is no writing in the sky.

 

The cloud above us is of glass, they say,

so today the air is crystal clear

and we can see the blue

without our world's calligraphy.

 

Tonight the moon is lying down,

watching the progress made.

The humans of the northern world

are ants in turmoil, baffled

by a twig across their path.

 

Will they turn it round

and float it like a primitive canoe?

Or will ferry-masters up the price,

and seize the profits of the day?

Will those who won first hold

fend off the lately come

to struggle in melt-water?

 

For once there is no writing in the sky.

 

Can they not see the writing on the wall?

wonders the moon

as she sways tonight in her hammock

in the clearest of glass skies.