All Fall Down.

Of course you'd cry
if it went down with thunder and tumbled all bruised
if strangers drunk didn't care,
no one to run their fingers through your red brown hair

when planes crash
sometimes invisible hands fix the engine
or shake awake the pilot.

Awaken us fools.

But sometimes seats
in their fully upright staunchness
land gracefully in flames into a forest
off the map
off the radar.
In the Atlantic.
In the stratosphere.
In the Appalachians.
Into peace and pieces

of course you'd cry if you couldn't breathe
if your eyes couldn't open to see
some hazy future.
I think I might understand what you see

maybe