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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