Whose arms but yours
Blanking out
And towers shouting in my clear blue sky
Not blue but gray and yellow cranes
Like dinky toys gone astray
It’s a quiet morning
At least in my clouded head
My labor undirected undetected
Ashes already sevenfold and blowing in my face
I survived the night
With only minor discomfort lingering
In my loins as if
To say, don’t leave
