Your furthest reaches are armed with bombs,
clusters of yellowing grenades primed
and ready to launch into the blue.
Anytime now you will release
them, set them free, and watch them fly,
a spinning, twirling, haze of wings.
Your children fly exploding life
wherever they land and pierce the ground.

Nearby trees are suddenly pregnant with sycamore seeds.
(05.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026