She falls off some scaffolding sparring
hexagons open a tectonic drift she
listens too attentively and
the answer is an echo.
Stars fall on her head she says she’s
a falsehood all her life
structure stands for no-one.
Maybe she is all alone in
her collective. A series of pauses
even from miles away finds her
living in an undead world.
There is a sum there but not
of this mornings sleet the
room is empty
when she goes back in. She
is wrenched into the stars nothing
disappeared everything leaves
you knew that already, didn’t you?
With the Ice Sharp Certainty of Image
“Live so that when your children think of fairness and integrity, they think of you.”
—H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
To the Doomed:
take away the moon—her illuminated side facing the Earth
take away the dawning sky
take away the sparse uncaring oaks
take away the true grasses grown as cereals
remove the windows and doors
subtract every brick and bit of mortar remove
the damnable buildings
suffer the felling of the world
the biting cold darkness
of a life unending
they began as light