We are picking through the
roots of flowers we have left
to die. Imagining there is
something we can salvage
from the chemical soaked
soil. But we are no experts,
and we cannot tell the
difference between a **** and
a stem. We are blind, hungry
children. Rummaging
through the grains of moon -
rocks that fell to Earth. As
they say that stars can only
shine in darkness, and that
planets steal the oxygen
from human lungs, but -
I am sure we will be able to
breathe somewhere. That
we will find a sparse,
unpopulated land with clear
air that heals, that spreads
through our bodies and sings
that we are home