I have seen
what no one should. My snowplough skin
has razored polished darkness.
I have seen,
with others' eyes, chaotic kingdoms
fall to dirt-white armies.
I have flown
through tears of smoke, through waterfalls
of forest dust, and home.
I have swept
the salt away, the clouds before me,
scoured the screaming Earth.
I have drunk
what no one could, who lacks my throat,
have tasted growth to death.
But I can feel
no searing pain, no slow-dissolving
platitudes, for I
I have hid my heart in a butterfly.
I cannot be killed, and I,
I can never cry.