That Mailbox Poem Thing

Today as I was walking home from the mailbox

I looked up and had to stop for a minute

right there in the street.

Above me was a piece of March sky

encased in pastel buildings.

It was a striking turquoise

and the vanishing incandescent clouds

were lit orange by an invisible setting sun.

You could barely see the moon's crescent,

as its thinnest.

And slightly above it,

cutting diagonally through this secret airscape

was the clean white line

of an outbound 747.

I stood there breathless and utterly convinced

that never before

had I seen a more convincing vision

of the future.