Our dreams were especially cruel: sail
the solar winds to new worlds, plant flags,
pretend no one existed before us.
We woke to chaos: Domes like cracked
eggshells, roads shattered into jigsaw paths,
blackened dust under our engines.
Some ruins are old, some new. We left
destruction in every footstep, claiming
the dead to put them in glass cases.
Our tents folded up, crumpled origami hopes
tossed aside by the first strong wind.
We wanted a home place, a garden
for our roots to tangle. We cleared
the rubble in spreading circles
only to find ourselves back
in the center, lost in the search,
still dreaming about our destination.