Destiny Isn’t Just a Seven Letter Word

homecoming 032


My plane crashed
several years ago,
you’re just stepping
from the fiery rubble
of your own fatality.

We pick through
the wreckage
like characters from LOST
hoping to find the remains
of who we once were.

The smoke is laced
with jet fuel, so dense
we often cover our faces
to the thickness
of its implied tragedy.

Our hands meet
at the same time
on a half-charred remnant,
our skins full of electricity
and untethered hope.


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