nobody cried when sweet smoke
arrived. we soot danced, our eyes
half-open, bodies ash-drunk
on sugar promises plucked
endlessly on old guitar

strings. winding streets slowly filled
with smoke, siren calling hearts
to believe not our choking
breath, but it. singing praises
like honey symphonies, words

of control. hushing words. lies
laying beneath. it quick burns
papery thin childlike-hope 
into dying embers. we 
believe it all until you 

speak. standing atop stacked rocks
bright hair blowing, tender eyes
locked on us, you say “listen
to the wind.” we do. it bends
flowers, stops dragonflies, sings

towns alive. go—sweep floors, hug 
trees, wipe ash from foreheads,
clean water, move air. listen
to stone, earth, plant. grab my hand
tight. don’t ever let me go.

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Note: Is this poem inspired by Barbenheimer? Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.