Skyship

In Skyship we ride the cloud-swell,Montana Sky

dark, bulging hull swinging low

and snow-white sails stacked up high

camouflaged on the round cumulus waves.

“Just another pillowy pile” the tale we sell

to the ground below

(who very much wants to believe our lie).

“A curious formation” says Earth to her slaves.

And we laugh at that,

oh you should hear us laugh at that–

the Captain and I–

rolling on the sun-spattered deck, blue sky

in our faces, guffawing and chortling

at our incredible success,

then peering down, watery-eyed

over the starboard side at the silly ground–

desperately bending the shapes

to fit what it knows:

that there is no ghost-ship,

only more blue beyond a queer floating cloudscape

that will surely change into something else

when the westerly wind

inland blows.

 

First published in THE MAGE.

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