Her eyes glow with fireflies

As we sit on the porch of that abandoned cabin,

The still lake shines with stars

That drift through the air around us

And adorn the skies above.



There is darkness to the East, where the city used to be,

Oddly gentle, filled with pinpricks of light

That look down upon those of us who survived

As we dream once again of reaching for them.



Leaning forward, her hair slips past her knees,

Tickling the wooden step beneath her

And drawing my absent hand through the strands.

We're fine now, truly,

Alive and well with the homegrown tomatoes and fresh-baked bread

Filling us up more than the morning coffee of rush hour ever did.