The Tupperware lifted
Back to celestial cupboards
The leaves humming not
Just a couple of rustles

The sky a diluted icy blue
Dressed for the coming season
Nothing new

Laid out
Like some holy meal
You can almost taste the pale azure
That's how it makes you feel

Brittle sharp
And somewhat lethal
Edges get dulled
By soft soft clouds
For us poor mortals
Us poor people.