At the Monuments
Here are the monuments where queer people dance Over the moonlit ground sparkling like sky’s sequined, And where descendants of panicked murderers beg The cry for forgiveness over vengeance. This is a place that does not exist— In your head, today, in the world, The energy burning by the fresh water While fire portals futures downstream. But if you breathe enough monuments, You chance becoming one almost As ashes to compost, dust to—everything, everywhere Even our Climate multiverses now.