Sinking below me
I see octagonal churches
And a concentrated obelisk city
The housing developments spin on fractal axes
Constructing unintelligible bubble language
A lonely school racetrack peaks through a pale shag rug
Punctuated by impossible white ribbons
Beyond the cotton ball clouds
Rises a whipped-cream mountain mess
A dog has emptied out a chew toy in space
Looking down at the water
I scan for whales and boats
But see nothing in the expanse
I think the world would seem much larger
If I were a sailor