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I can tell I unnerve you,
like so many ghosts
before you,
who cackle at the rain
and always crave
habitual summer sweatings
and hiking up of skirts
in sandboxes
with the mud
sloshing round our ankles,
cursing the skies
that birthed us
down to earth
from our origin star-scapes,
heaving fire as we fell
to the earth
with a crunch of
bones on asphalt
in the middle of a
busy intersection,
though it did not matter
because no humans
were looking upward
to the moon anymore
in these times of the
Great Machines,
so our descent
went unnoticed
by the masses
and we kinda liked it that way.