We hit the high line on the horizon
passing pines and oaks
with tattered arms outstretched.
A tragic trajectory.
And the stars winced while the moon rolled over
out of sight and mind.
We crashed through leaves upon fingertips
too wooden to break from their ache
and snatch a shirttail or sleeve.
Gravity bound as we were.
And then there was the ground
scattering us, shattering us
into a million different people and places.
We never knew we could be
so proud and desperate,
so separate from who we were.
Now beneath the trees
beating the dust from our hats,
gathering up our skirts to knees.
Striking out, newborn captains of destiny.