red ant fires smolder in the georgia dust
and the droning sound of pollinators
it trickles through the air
like summer balloons on an evening sky
the old orchards have fallen to decay
the fruit is bitter and flush with the taste of sin
there are gravestones that stretch in glimmering white
so plainly beautiful and bursting with emotion
it all unfolds like a dreamscape
childhood vacations etched in memory
and all along the coast
among the grass and swaying palms
the sand is built of castles
we are kings upon our thrones
but the sodden wheels of time
they have drenched our dreaming wheels
for now we talk when once we tumbled
and pray when once we slept
we have been cast out from our ocean
our toes beneath the foam
and we wonder why this happened
how we came to know this home
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/25/14
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