Careless flare,
what wit makes you blue
in your atomic wakefulness,
your life-bestowing anger,
your seething heat and light?
Is it me that saddens? Is it all of us?
Is it the calamity of prioritizing convenience
we have foisted on the world you burn alive.
All day long I hear your supersonic song.
Celebration or lamentation?
Does what we do dismay our parental flame?
Does anything amaze your stellar opulence?
Are you dumb to earth’s teaming tenants,
residing as we do within suicidal cities?
What would make you care about
this sunbaked loaf leavened with light,
bone stiff, curious, and circumscribed by skin?