Unexploded

See distant smokestacks
Reaching up straight and high
Breathing into the sky
Like an exhalation
Of some hidden machine
Beneath everything
Quietly building all that we can see

I don’t want to be the museum
Custodian of unexploded things
Too hot to handle
And too precious to touch

Like something kept hidden from the world
Sunlight hints black toward blue
Buried below the floor because it came before it will come again
While the penthouse sees everything
Where it’s always morning
High above unbreakable shining unshakable all behind glass

I don’t want to be the museum
Custodian of unexploded things
Too hot to handle
And too precious to touch