Multiple shelves of sky
Hold old bric a brac,
Thunderclouds I can’t track
Or meteors descry.
Nothing seems to keep up,
Yet fills me like a cup.
I dance from shelf to shelf
Unburdening my self,
Turning war-bent airships
To innocuous pips
Soon to wing, flag, and drop,
To fill the raptor’s crop.
My dance is never done,
Shelf to shelf to the sun.
