sienna 
bricks withering with the sorrowful wind.
Decaying corridors and alleys perishing
in distress. One
afternoon
blazing on broken light bulbs
burning three-piece sofas.
Charcoal imprints staining dusty carpets.
it is said that we will be okay.

          It is said that the children are crying.

Incandescent sailing silver-linings -
flowing gardens of smoky dreams. The 
archipelago
praises and pours droplets
into tin cups and plastic buckets.
Sienna
bricks grow out of rainy seeds.

          It is said that idleness is being present.