When the sky looks like smoke
and the storm’s edge stands

at the precipice of the city
and the curtains shake

with anxiety as flower petals
and trash dance in whirlwinds

above the street with sparrows
and squirrels retreating 

to their deep tree trunk hiding dens
and the rain’s laughter

can be heard even over loud music
and there’s a cancer growing 

in the air in metastatic torrents
and doom’s breath gusts

wind like angry prayers
and soil turns to lifted ash

and desolation’s face remains
glued into the earth

then, only then will I know
if sunlight is real

and not some illusion
I misinterpret with my eyes.

Sean Lynch is a poet and editor who lives in South Philadelphia. Recent poems appear in Hobart, Meow Meow Pow Pow, and SurVision Magazine. He's the founding editor of Serotonin and the Program Director of the Nick Virgilio Writers House, in Camden, NJ. Find him on Twitter @seanlynchpoet