the first wailing roar i don't remember should have been an indication,
but that only gets recalled on a cellular level,
when shamans share the sacred vine.
i knew of embers that carried the wind to the driest of foot hills,
thousand year old vegetation scorched in minutes flat.
lest we forget the millions of golden stars, the levies and Pol Pot.
it would stand to reason that the arc of history prepared me for our ever brittle break,
but it did not.
your eyes told me we were strong,
the flood waters that pushed against us didn't stand a chance,
that our love would shield us while we dwelled in the attic of some kind stranger.
ending is being worked on...
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