Piecemeal. What tears us apart.
Waking up the engines that shake tree limbs miles away.
The red hot exhaust that leaves hundred yard scorches
in the fields of grass.
Turning the key that shuts the machine down
so the minnows whipping through the river shallows
can be heard from the cockpit
and the cloud's sighs
can kiss an ear. Fire her up! Head straight
for the exosphere.
