The era arrives
where we kill what
speaks for the trees.
ashes to ashes
they resemble the snake
fabled to swallow our sun
for nothing gold ever stayed.
Bring out your dead!
on collapsed horizons, of doomsdays
four horsemen walk on a well-worn road to
eyeing a dead world
where only rock remains.
But remember how we dared disturb the universe?
time and space and relativity stand infinite and counting
but so were we on your trampoline,
defying gravity from the moment of takeoff
to a final landing on an imaginary moon.
we were so full of pride and summer and fantasy
that the fireflies became satellites--
oh, we tried. I’m so glad that
I know what I endured, before:
the smell of coffee
& adults that told me to pipe down
& crying in the school bathroom
the gift they gave me
how I grieve for them,
the trivial sources of anguish
when only rock remains.
this is a quiet protest.
this is the thing with feathers.
listen to it, fleeting & colorless
but glorious all the same
bearing no flag and
drawing no borders.
we are the lichens
where only rock remains because
when only rock remains
there is something else there, too
this little prospect which
shies away in a box’s corners and burrows,
in the rubble of monuments to sin
and it has been injured and
broken but it
Time has stopped.
no night, nor day
if sleep will come, darling,
dream of the flowers
who make use of the earth
of open doors & windows &
laughing, hugging neighbors
fingers that were meant to fit together
and how our hearts are only half of one.
remember windchimes, beaches, autumn
Welcome to a new day
where rock and that sacred thing
do not dwell on yesterday
to create tomorrow.
remember, I beg you:
hope has arrived