lifting a fat broth

Was reading Carl Sandburg's Smoke and Steel again this morning. "Soup" will be my favorite forever, but the following is a close second.

Hats, where do you belong?
 what is under you?

On the rim of a skyscraper’s forehead
I looked down and saw: hats: fifty thousand hats:
Swarming with a noise of bees and sheep, cattle and waterfalls,
Stopping with a silence of sea grass, a silence of prairie corn.
 Hats: tell me your high hopes.
People don't really wear hats quite so much anymore. This is fine as we have plenty of other accessories to worry about. Feel free to replace "hats" with "phones" if you must.