Not In Kansas Any More

by Columbine

People come and go very quickly here
To be a home that is never returned to
To be Cape Canaveral, or a hollow hill
To be Mesopotamia
Isn't so much a Be at all
But an Is, or a Was
Now the little birds are great soaring miracles
The children dance in a skittering blur
Singing a song that our big feet would obliterate
Unheard, in thunder too slow to feel
A matter of scale
A frequency beneath any imagining
The talk of mountains or bigger
Booming swollen stars, iron bellies rumbling
Talk to me
We are mortal too, we remember
Overreaching our grasp, sealing our fates
In searing explosive defiance
Knowing we'd still have all we needed
By the time
time?
Time we might be gone
gone?
We will some day be gone
we?
Roiling imploding stars, the little ones
Will never know what hit them
Or that it loved them
Broken expended stars
Dithering out infrared Alzheimer's
A tongue of going on ahead and being left behind
Mumbling, remembering stars
Talk to me

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