Atlantis
Pavement gray and skies all summon
voices and the memory of sirens.
Monoliths of glass and chrome
shake their fists at the sky,
still trying to grasp dollars
in their teeth.
Come dark, the bonfires begin.
She watches from the ruins of the Opera house,
nesting in shredded curtains.
She glues mirrors to the old trapdoor
and watches the fires rise.
They swell from the bones of giants
like a last, bitter sigh,
one last battle cry
before ash.
