and the world was quiet,
the autumn leaves rustle.
quiet, with no footsteps, and the drop of a pin
reverberating through the sphere.

questions and the occasional gulp;
for certain dark secrets aren't meant to be shared.

wanted to get closer, to touch the glass dome;
the dream of being inside, and letting the grass run free;
but when the hammer strikes from a land elevated high
cracks and shatters the priceless surface,
abrasions on parallel reality.

the awkward feeling of trying to get something
but simply gun shot away from our bleeding hands.

unknowingly, as the hunter leaves the exploding
beach hut,
pearlescent blue lightsticks illuminate the fisherman's boat
set on course for an unknown destiny,

there is a key at the bottom of the shark's bay.
and a new treasure
is found, suddenly visible
beneath the thousand layers of autumn leaves falling.

though unscathed, with cuts and bruises as the mark of aperture and
loyalty,
and though the forest was littered in fire's remnants and debris,
captured polaroids and negatives won't be enough
to capture the eyes' beholding beauty.

for it was still suburban dreams,
as lights go on again.