we are the dreamers / we roll the dice so we’re alive

the white roses have all cindered, ash in
silver moonlight. in a city overgrown,

someone stands in the garden and touches
the dead flowers and thinks of you, wonders

what home you’ve found, and if you’ll stay
this time. this time, you’re fallen to gray

in a windless place, mouth smiling but no
happiness on your tongue. you look death

in the eye and do not blink. in a sky too far
to touch, the moon swells with light and

opens arms to welcome you home. there
will always be another story to tell, another

world to be won or saved or loved. above,
there’s a pale light, lunar and unwavering.

for the first, nameless time, you’re flying.