Chernobyl in Fall
The same moon shines over most of Ukraine:
just as damaged
and as noble. The buildings here
are held together with rust
and moss creeps across the concrete.
Behind me are the soft pads
of foxes' feet on scattered leaves.
I am disintegrating.
I scatter skin cells and hair.
I spit, and the night spits back.
There are no stars.
The silhouettes of damaged homes
are human figures, slumped and shaking,
and in the distance Tower 4 hums softly.
I am cold
and the mosses reach
and the foxes turn and run.
For a while, nothing.
I am remembering
there are worse lives to be had.
I am realizing
there are better reasons to disappear.