Hang onto the morning at its smallest
just before the sky cracks
to let in the morning’s rays.
Remember the passing seasons
and the gait of wisteria often buried
under raucous life
The cold summer sun resting quietly
between satin curtains.
Hold both the silence and the noise
in the same hand
because this world is burning too fast to hold it all.
As you listen for the horizon noise of trains going, people rushing
ask if you reach for the bits of this world
before they become buried, returning to ash
returning to the Earth for eternity, for infinity
I plea, listen to the woods glowing in crimson,
the thunder falls of animals you so dearly love
running, running, running until they’re covered
in ignorance, in complacency. Covered in grayness
so thick it covers the morning at its smallest,
the sky cracking for beings of destruction.