Cities burning.


An ash-filled river.


A few humans


like vessels washed in milk


pole boats


through the river’s sludge,


careful not to touch


the water.


A woman who fed us


reduced to salt and tar.


My mother


held me to the ground,


body like a roof.


She whispered an elegy


to her fur


as it burned.


I saw the pink of dusk


on the ground


as she sheltered me.


No screens.


No buildings


No cars.


Static left the air.


As we once did


we do so again


scratching images


on the bark of trees.