Fragrant flowers fall, filling fall forests

Anathema, arid as

it is, I inch into imaginary islands.

Seek suffering, sight, sanctity

above all air and above all ashes.

Thin thoughts take time to

heed hymns hidden here

hitting here hurting here

hating height hating hope.

Eyes everywhere

make mighty men

shake saying save

them take them there’s time.

But buried beneath broken branches

Lives life, love, light.

Heed— have hope,

For fallen figures find

that their tales

aren’t always

forgotten