Paradise

We carried the swifts in wheelbarrow loads
from factory windows, chimneys.

Lit our fires with peat,
our backs to the murmuring forest.

After the rain, dust motes.
Ghosts in a glade of shade pine.

Now we no longer know the names
for flowers, cannot unfurl them
nor the stars’ coils.

We flare in heaven’s refinery,
raise our smoldering flag.