Sunset

I could fly.

Not like stereotypical Peter Pan style or with bird wings

but with a shirt

with built-in handlebars

I soared and failed

crashing into my ceiling.

I told my brother to hop on

Wisps of smoke flick through the sky

a quickly fading whisper of what was

of what used to be

but not anymore.

Faintly glowing embers

tokens of the past

they fade away too soon

There's a lilac bush

or a tree

or a bush-tree

none of us can actually tell

and its name is Bob

or Barbara

or Bobara

none of us can decide

and it is a gender-fluid lilac bush/tree/bush-tree