Things fall apart. Across a summer sky
the emblematic Coca Cola script
above the uproar, miles long, a mile high

dissolves like cirrus before the squinting eye,
until all that’s left’s a vaporous postscript.
Things fall apart. Across a summer sky,
once, subtler heavenly signs might testify

foreshadowing the end of Rome or Egypt.
above the uproar, miles long, a mile high.
That titanium on blue could edify…
there’s a lofty riddle to decrypt.

Things fall apart. Across a summer sky
now wind-drift pulls the letters all awry
the pilot banks, the plane signs off, wings tipped
above the uproar, miles long, a mile high.

See how the characters emulsify
into the blue, now vacuous, nondescript.
Things fall apart. Across a summer sky
above the uproar, miles long, a mile high.