We are names, really.
sometimes faces.
are caught up in the wind
and we fly for ten years.
we fly for less
when we are smart.
but when we fall there
is no way ever up
and the earth folds
into itself, we are caught in
its layers. They
take many at a time,
of us.
The water does not care
if we are kind,
or if we have a family
somewhere in Oz.
We are names, scribbled out
on a piece of stone, a
landmarker, a deathmarker.
Because the water does not
care if we are kind.
and we wash away.














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