Where I've come from, first
a white room, then the city
full of voices and flashing
colors; the world lengthening
every year darker than the year
before. Someone with bright skin
and dancing hair looks into
a mirror. The mirror sees nothing
it hasn't seen before. Now
transformed my aging body walks
through fields of wheat and corn;
buried alive in trees, the dark
green creek, the rocks and
grassy rolling hills.
What compels an innocence to end
its life with happiness or joy?
To that last bird caught between
the sky and storm, a certain thrill;
where it came from, where it will
surely be destroyed.