Air raid sirens are full of dust
in a culture my ears know. Let
fail the mode of lamentation,
let us breathe in the dust we are
and be happy, let us have strength
we can direct over the form of
the book, the film, the cigarette,
the vape, the game, the small figures
we create in our new-born minds.
Let me just remember this is
pouring rain, this is paradise.
If you feel your life won’t make sense
if conditions aren’t met, forget
that, and luminesce. You may think
maybe our parents shouldn’t have
had us, knowing then what they knew
and leaving the planet in states
difficult to parse, and this holds
for all ages, and all people
in them, what a hot sin it is
to create a newborn person,
it scalds and leaves us hollowing.
But it is a great miracle
like lives and all things in their grasp