Atlantean Sorrow

There's no where to put these things:

books I can't feel anymore.


If the sky was fire (as it is in dreams sometimes)

I would ride the thermals

Backdraft, updraft, the rising heat.


I see this world in my flight just before my

little echo finds peace and lets go the wing:



My soul plummets through the dark wave,

abandoning my lost city of self forever.


No, there's no where to put these things:

A wind, a book, a wave, a heart on fire.