Someone smoked a pipe too long
and dark tufts filled the cyan expanse,
then they rumbled and thumped too loud
startling us below, enough to crane our neck
and look above.
They must have sneezed,
and excuse them please,
for the rushing wind could have stolen
their mumbled apology.
And amidst the puffy mist,
there could have been adrift,
a downy, now wet, handkerchief.