Go back to sleep.
Wish for a wilderness without predators.
where cicadas hum and the busted spray paint cans rust.
Wish us a shelter from the gasoline rain.
Wish us a safe harbor when the waves cap white on the bay.
Our childhood came to pick us up from the county jail.
Those last few days, they make perfect sense.
I can't repeat-- I can't repeat.
They are not my words. You were not alone.
They are in the bay with your ashes.
I wish cicadas clung to steet lamps instead of your throat.
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