I descend a hill of carved white stones
Down to the town I once thought home
People speak a language I can’t
Don’t seem to see me
Never strolled a city that’s also a ghost
I find where I think my house once was:
Each inch of landscape broken and bare
Nothing that stood stands
Didn’t expect the stars to come kill us
Small ones we made but plan on their own
Bursts of light ripping holes in the air
No one could breathe
Home’s where you go when everything’s gone
I number among the living yet
Perhaps should go lie on that white cross hill