They have touched the skyline,
jumped into their crafts, and
headed towards the valley.
How will we will know those
fierce spirits we’ve begged
to save our coast? Their veils
so thin that heaven’s sorrow
has fallen, its frozen seeds
slipping, sliding on the wooden
streets. They wander over trees
that once were felled for shelter,
taken for pleasure. Who will
know the edges of their mercy?