I am singing now while Rome burns.

He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it.

A kid under a tablecloth insists he’s a ghost. A table underneath a tablecloth is, I guess, like the rest of us, only pretending to be invisible.

Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.