Clinging to the atmospheric rims,

standing on the surface of the sky,

the clouds roll by in shifts above our heads,

probably staring blankly back at us.

Macroscopic views for streaks of Earth,

frequencies collide around the trees,

aurora shades conforming to the range,

a colourful mosaic of the leaves.

And aloft in other corners of the ground,

celestial bodies hurried through the light,

in nighttime city sky the clouds delight,

chromatic solar streetlights burning through.

So even as the clouds would strain their necks,

their view to us of up is antonym,

and we peer back in vain perspective bent,

the viewpoints of a world made inside-out.