New York, Navarre
we wear a crown of
glittering glass and iron stark
against the blossoming sky, magnetic
prisms collecting people like
lightning bugs in a jar:
see the flicker, the shine
the afterglow like radiation when
we struck the sun's core and
molten spurted out—we welded
the world and a crown of thorns.
our shadows stretched into
the atmosphere, tangy and metallic,
and carved up the sunrise
into a mosaic of hours. we stack
steel beams as the white bricks fall
but the tide will come in and remind us
of the dust in our lungs and the rims
of our eyes. the glass will remember
it came from sand and iron recall
its earthy bed. it will crumble
into the sea where night comes quickly
in darkness like oil and ink slinking
over the surface. lights go out:
we'll have the phosphor in
the sand and cut-out stars, but
water will keep rising until
the world is ocean again and i can
float on my back till i fall off
the edge of the earth.