Burma, or Colonialism Gone Wrong

The sky today, a collection

of clouds above

the power poles,

old, electrified wire

unwound across the city.

It’s so clear

that I’m not from here,

though there’s nowhere

else for now, save a slow-motion

rewind of a time of us, then,

a flock of grey birds

in the heart of the wind.

Someday we’ll be skeletal

all over again,

and the new day

will be nothing more

than a slant of light

that goes

right through you.