The sun burned crowns on our heads
yet I thought nothing of nobility.
Green vines heavy with blackberries we
picked enough to fill three ten gallon buckets.
Before noon we carried them into the shed
as sparrows do souls silent bursts
of light damp earth. My grandfather
adds subtracts. World War II
in calluses femur unable to release lead.
Gray hard city to powder smoke
liberated the dead.
Red stripes rose fell.
Give me your hands.
He sees saltwater octagons skyscrapers singed
paper whirling through the body. Magnolias
distant as poplars walnut.
My spine is a cypress with jagged bark.
You are the last of us.