So this is fallout -
The trees are choking
with ghosts that hang
like windchimes
from each atomic bough.
This is the aftermath.
The steam has long
since escaped, the cores
are ruined settlements
that glow furious gloam.
We carry them
with us, hearts knock
beat to beat, churning
something heavy
that already hardens.
Angels decay.
Summer is columns
& columns of them
carelessly spilling
into the empty
cooling pond.
What happened
to us? Years went
wrestling by
into the abyss. Clawing
to the surface,
this is what is left.
The trees are coughing
with ghosts.
I take you
and place you
gently among them.