I lay my body flat to hold the water, 
a soft dam coughing dirt to feed the forest.
They say our bones are stronger than the concrete
that slows the riverflow.

I paced my cage in the decades when nothing
happened. In the days when decades rose
I learned to smell the difference between diesel
and kerosene. 

In galaxies without moons, ascendents praise no
god. Their frozen oceans rise no tides.
In paradises without suns, church bells ring
in constant darkness. Their ozones cycle
through no seasons. 

I google does karma account for when
you’re only following orders? and a jet plane dropped
like a dying fly and fell right through
the moon roof in my mind.

Each morning I break myself a little
to feel something heal throughout the day.
I snap a limb off the drying shrub to watch it feather
and reabsorb. All I want is what the moth gets
from the light. 

---

Joshua Lillie is a bartender and musician in Tucson, Arizona. He is the author of the chapbook Small Talk Symphony (Finishing Line Press, 2025). He was a finalist for the Jack McCarthy Book Prize Contest from Write Bloody Publishing in 2024, and a Best of the Net nominee in 2026.