Brooklyn Dreams,
pretty
as a peacock’s feathers,
the
color of rainbows
dying again
in
Autumn
when the darkness and dust and human debris
fell to earth
in a shroud of toxic air;
we inhaled trauma and fear and eternal death;
and terror stretched
across the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridge,
as we watched
the incomprehensible;
and we died; yes, we died;
we exhaled our innocence;
and we died
