The school bus rumbles forward in the night
It is raining, I think
The water blurring city lights into stars

and the world comes apart

Each of its clockwork cogs lining themselves up before my eyes
The tress that died for this road,
the steel factory workers, the cells of my heart
I scramble to fit the pieces back together, yet there are just too many

The grass in the backyard, uncovered from its sheet of snow, appears ever so much brighter than I expect it to be
But I suppose that makes sense, in a world that spontaneously changes its shape
in Here, this peculiar place I've reached

And I'm not quite sure I want to leave