How far up is the blue of the sky?

Even the sky doesn’t know,

but searches inside itself

as the old men with coats and jackets

went searching for letters in pockets

that were around the inside, and sometimes

inside another again. They searched,

and usually searched  in vain.

But the smoke from their pipes

went searching, upward and around,

always curious, prying and thorough

in a desultory sort of way;

heading towards the answer, but

much like the old men themselves,

never having the energy to get there.