Vacant

Crashed space ships in the ocean,
next to the bones of ancient boats,
still flicker in the dark surrounded
by pressure.

The park is overgrown
in a way that covers everything,
even all the chain links in the fences.

Flagpoles stand with nothing flying, and
cast long shadows from the tops of hills
that cut across the land in sharp diagonals.

Mounting reconstructed faces in scrollable
packages for the unoccupied. We drink
water from metal networks to help the
signal move.

Hiding in the middle of
a public street,
acting casual like they’re
supposed to be there,
the space they used
to stare off into
now is vacant.