A fallen tree became our table,
and setting water bottles down,
like building houses out of cards,
we breathed in the quiet air around us,
listening for the sound.
“The rot of the Mesozoic
keeps our lights alive”
On stolen soil,
There is nothing
I capsize every night, anchorless and gasping . . .
The store is closed when I
from the window
I imagine better homes.
I sink into my seat
until the motion slows,
and I can take the back exit,
off the beaten tracks.
Perceived safety in a seized system,
reliance on binary is a symptom
of a desire to minimize difference,
no longer willful ignorance.