July 6, 2006

Independence?

The explosion imparts a hastened reenactment:

A trailing stem,

spat toward the heavens,

ripens to a heavy bloom.

Pinpricks bleed openly,

fill and fade.

They die,

as quickly as they're birthed

to melt down the mural of the sky.

A torched rain

flames, falls, flickers to mute.

It peppers the land

with a quiet memorial.

No comments:

Post a Comment