premonition
I.
I am aqueous, free of lungs but flying through air.
Call me astute, recall my asphyxiation, and
analyze the verity of astronomical velocities on Earth.
Do you realize? We aren’t austere like your
mother or avant-garde like your father; we never were.
Visions remain after dawn, always altering dusk.
Tell me about the vagabond who flew straight to the pinnacle,
left me here, and felt the apocalypse.
II.
Losing backbone, and losing the brigade.
The thing we build to lose,
we salvage in between worlds.
Black shadows and barren seas disappear from sight,
bringing smells of the Brooklyn bridge at dawn.
We’re always missing the bull’s-eye, but
we won’t stop burning bridges.
III.
The countries you know so well
never convey what’s to come.
Crest falls and the great cosmos
wobble, willing themselves to stand.
Catching crayfish in the lakes and
the car crash by your cottage
is all I want to remember.
Instead, a cyclone: a calamity.