Maybe I'm the only one with something lost.
Her red pen etched the words we both sobbed.
Rolling clouds of misery are infecting today's air;
We're all unable to change the weather.
Her horses' barn is being lifted by it again,
Leaving only the ghost of a probable Holocaust,
And my skin is burning without a bed,
My eyes rolling up to face the tortured atmosphere.
It's still cooling off but the assigned task was carried out.
How else can the two of us survive and remember?
Desperation's falling clouds of acid touch my eyes.
I can only close my eyes to fight the storm:
My shelter left for the rest of its life in August.