No Return

On that last trip
up to the sky
we wrote in cloud visions.
That was the picture
you held on to
for dear life. Those
were the days and nights
we shed our skins
to let the rains touch
our dry and brittle bones.
Hungrily we soaked it all up:
the ripening fields
the glory of grain
the silent tears we shed
for a lost age.
And we brushed the sand
from our hair. Offerings
to the land, from a journey
among the waves. We spread our
shells on the verdant green
and wished for miracles.

There was no return.
We are only imagining
these overtly vicious
surroundings. We make
coffee and sip away
the visions of a city nestled
away in the skies, of
a people that we once
belonged to. The savage
melodies that we once sang
to each other as we loved
ourselves on the edge
of the known world.