Writing on the Wall

We are leaning out of windows,
watching them from cars,
hanging wishes on the tails
of a clear night’s shooting stars.

Cuddled in the country
sipping flasks of tea
as meteors escape
their celestial canopy.

Eyes field their acrobatics
vaulting deep space and afar
wizened rocks that fall,
share carbons that we are.

On open stubble ground  
a Vixen passes, sharp eared
hears a thudding sound, 
and smells the hole one carved.

Next day the ploughman,
as he turned the heavy boulder
saw the bright blades spark,
glancing back across his shoulder.

Only the fox saw where the treasure
lay casting messages for home
with magnetic waves a measure
of the distance it was thrown,
knew what constellation lost a pearl,
flung far from heavens sea
tossed onto this blue planet,
between hours of ten and three.