The aeromancers of each age
read their heavens as a page
prefiguring through mystic signs
of stars or clouds, suggestive lines,

where subtle shapes or sparkling lights
confided volumes - wisdom, rites
to be observed, secrets divined
- arcana of the air designed

to be discovered, held, disclosed
by chosen ones who then imposed
much deeper meaning on it all,
foretokening some boon or fall.

Beneath this sky, my wonder scours;
it nearly seems within my powers
to eye soft cyphers in that space
and start to tease, presume to trace

significance hid in this breeze
and speak of it, convinced, with ease:
the universe electing me
to seek, derive, help others see.