Exodus

 

After all,
the leaf shall die,
evaporating from the inner hemisphere of a tree.

And all that left is plastic,
a rubber ball
which might die soon,
Humans create temporary memories
and watch it detach.

Droplets of June nectar
in the dome sky
crackles,
with one stone eye.
And then you see a tunnel
that stares back.

A nightmare is black
spitting nothing, yet
glancing the beautiful fall.
Fall of things and people.

It is in the end when the soul falls,
whimpering,
drawing a night out of the sky,
uttering facts about the exodus.
It roams doused in silver buckets.