They fell out of the clouds
like stones, smashing
the sunflower fields,
splitting, spilling
on the hard summer roads.
Their lives fell with them –
letters, clothing, photographs,
sunscreen, lipsticks, bags of sweets,
passports to witness who they were
and what they had become.
They will not rise up,
bones whole, flesh healed,
brushing petals from their clothes.
They will not wander this strange, sunlit land,
looking for their children.
There will be no kisses
no reunions.
Nothing more can happen.
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