i.
speeding backwards through burnt skeletons of life
that used to be
painted rust and green
necks turned to look in ways previously
lost to us
at paths previously crossed by us
hands tight on gods and machines that
have tried to kill us;
yes, we survived and live to turn
around though fires burn
and stare down storms and silence of a
thousand lives before us
that we’ve loved

ii.
and how we love
as if we’ve never felt the sting of being young and facing ending,
bravely,
stars like freckles on our noses and the
sun still red from smoke,
bravely,
crossing wooden bridges with our heavy shouldered loads,
bravely,
drinking in our beaches and our booze
until we drown
in the caves of summer mouths
that stand so wide and empty,
full of grace and full of doubt

iii.
who are we
to try and fill our hands
with the ashes of our former homes?
who are we
to claim we’ll still be so
long after our bones are blackened
by the truth
we think we know?