Back home we have a few fallen houses
For the most part, though, they are all still standing
We have waterfalls too
They are just smaller
We have barns with roofs caved in by the foot of some
Giant
Back home, our rocks—
They’re grey, or
Red sometimes
With a slight greenish cast
The rivers are still green
But more a muddy green
These are smoky
Back home
We have trains
They carry boxes
Crates
Bags
When the whistle blows amidst the barns and the muddy water
We wonder what, not who, they bring
Back home