and we start small,
called on to be
able-bodied and bright,
expanding like fireworks,
like fireflies igniting in the trembling night.
over a field of clover, there is only
us,
suspended, not
quite touching infinity.
us,
even while soaring, caught up in the wind, we
are falling back to earth, and slowly we
die out. slowly we burn ourselves to pieces,
careless in our destruction, our disruption of this
eternal epiphany,
not realizing that summer has come and gone and it is
time to stop holding our breath and
return to the sky as ashes without an
urn, scattered and sparse,
murmuring our souls to the wind.
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