Deep in the country of unbroken clouds,
The sundry broken crowds
Have wondered for unnumbered years what lies
Beyond their numbed gray skies.
Some have spun rumors, flimsy as wet straw—
A peasant weaver saw
Twilled clouds unravel and a golden reed
Spike earthward at the speed
Of light; a crippled beggar glimpsed bright alms
Ripple through limpid calms
In cloud-patched sky; a farmer, his untilled
Acres before him, filled
With joy at sunlit fields of uncracked blue—
But crack-downs brought them to
Their senses, down to earth, and back to wonder
Under the reign of thunder.