part 3

part 3
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  • The heavens remained pure, except for little white slits on the perfect blue skin that planes cut in the icy upper air, like needles sewing.
  • From one, a tiny seed might fall that would make a sun on earth. And so the century passed, with me still in it, books waiting on the shelves to become cinders
  • what we felt locked up inside, waiting to be read, down the long corridor of time.
  • I was born the year the bomb exploded. Twice whole cities were charred like cities in the Bible, but we didn't look back.
  • We went on thinking we could go on, our shapes the same, darkened now against a background lit by fire. Forgive me for doubting you're there, Citizens, on your holodecks with earth wallpaper-
  • a shadow-toned ancestor with poorly pressed pants, protected like a child from knowing the future.
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