When the sun falls

And the shadows unfurl

Behind rusting bars

The heartbeats of home lie in snippets of dim blue pulsing.

Across their peeling adobe,

The wind just trots,

But inside them,

A blue screen blares:

“War
Hate
and
disaster
are
imminent
near
you.”

The next day

When sunlight returns,

From the walls

En masse there emerge,

These tiny creatures.

Eyes reflecting the sky,

They skip past the blare of their televisions,

And whisk out with the wind

As if to find a greater bellowing in the air:

A lived experience.

The rite of ages.

Their heartbeats at play,

Only they know the world that they walk.

J.T.

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