It was late into that viscious seasonal transition
with sticky heat grating at the loose barricades
the confused masses put up around
patterns of docile thought.

I remember entire cities
churning out their leaders as children
and dressing our most vulnerable
up for combat.

I remember each first moment
when another person knew
how painful it was
to just have it all happen.

The sweet sting of a tireless wind
at least taught us what momentum existed,
but never how to resist the pull
and claim it as our own.

Whatever took us kept us
up until the very end,
and we expected to wake up
panting, embracing a new land.

And then the storm stopped
and the eyelids pried open
against the settling dust
that encapulated the chaos.

Nothing was harmed and no one was moved
and the waters reclaimed a normal flow
but they all just sat with nowhere to go
in shock that their, "right here" hadn't changed.

Not right here
nor the now
nor the us
nor any "them".

We sweet human creatures
are built to seek shelter
to make it grow
into tragic stagnance.