Concrete spinning in a tunnel
on the truck like it’s a Ferris wheel
or some other dumb attraction.
I watch our shadows run beside us
like I’m not the one they’re chasing
over hollow land they hold tight
in their hands.
All our lookouts have been automated
so we sleep with no one watching
but the red light by the lens
that never flickers even slightly
over decades now.
She feels the feathers while she gets
to know the chickens running free
out there; without the need of names.
Wingspans of owls are misleading
but at a glance I see how one
could think they’re magical.
I prefer dragonflies that aren’t afraid to die.
Though, we know hollow bones break
easily when we gather around the apple tree,
and talk about what we all know is dying.
She opens her umbrella just for shade
and reads a magazine she hasn’t seen
since the doctor’s office way back
when she couldn’t even read a single
word of it. While the piano keys are motionless
and light like there was something else
below them taking flight.
There are days when I think nothing,
and only hope that somehow everything
stays cloudy. Memories of blisters
on worn out heels from dress shoes,
far too big for me to stop, creep up like
storms on the horizon where the clouds swirl
while the whole world fucking watches.

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