Everything is Burning

When I try deep-breathing, I gag;
my beloved gasps without respite.
Something—more terrible
than smoke—smothers us.
It seems the sun sets seven times daily—
I trust no one in this new land;
I need to pack up, drive pronto,
with my beloved to our tiny country house:
it is time for my new energy—not a hybrid,
but a mind-powered car; time
to hover between heaven and earth,
lift my hands from the wheel, gaze into space.
I need to withdraw to countryside,
like an official bowing away from Court.
My nation devastates me.
Tell the bees, elders say, when the one
you loved has died—but I whisper:
Don’t wait. We need to tell them everything
is burning; everywhere, black holes
swallow suns. Without restraint,
bees fly among the six realms—
bringing tidings from our human lives.
Haste, haste: we need to tell them
who we are, who we love.
Someone needs to hear our song.