Because They Were

Sandy Olson Hill

( Wyatt, Josiah, Uriah)

Merely 31 or 33,                                                                    red numbers

under an anemic sun. Bodies of idle

waters. Lost in Percentages. Ponds, rivers, reservoirs,

miles of streams, and canals under the smoke,  above the charred

and cowering flowers. Where planets hide within the haze,

where stars reside, under the irony of honeyed skies. As if, as when the Heavens’ beckon, leaving

none. Leaving none. Left to give, the heart. Being the boy, the boy being of lakes & sea, of land, of earth,  of trees,of sounds, and dreams. Give them signs and stones will speak their names in flames,

in heat and meter. A boy is burning. Control. Delete.

Incinerate. A boy is burning wind to breathe.Trees are toppling

to their knees. Ashes down the state of Washington, California

and Oregon’s child has locked his amber sky

inside the broken limb of night beyond

the near of fear and far appears, he will get his fill of

trembling cloud. Calls the moon to drop her carbon waterfalls & asteroid.

Wills the wind to float him into golden

breezes. Orbit where the Earth receives.

Until the forest, be the body. Be the root, before the leaves.Spark into sea, before the sky

falls not rain, but fire& pain. For birds, for bees,

search for God between the burning trees.

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