They cut us in half with comets and lava
Seven billion brains thought nothing of it
Our connective tissue continued mutating
As one beneath the wreckage, we festered
Linked like a mighty ghost limb to its host,
I felt the sunniest parts of you die all alone
You became a dead thing which breathes
I grew forgotten; the forest field, un-plundered
The days and years have both been long
The tides have teased me at distance
That harvest moon has no insight to offer
Only waste awaits where we waited,
yet I insist upon seeing your wet bones
Expecting war, my feet are slow going
Remembering woe, my eyes fight focus
There is nothing here but new nature, however,
in the place our ghosts will know as home
A flowering trail is the one I must follow
Only you could be at the rainbow’s end
A still shape lies at the canopy’s edge;
fast toward it, my downhill flight hastens
But sudden wolves expose my crimson fountain,
killing me before I can ever see you clearly
Our last moment, as predictable as all
of those before them have always been
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