by Brooke Mogy


We burned down the shelter

in our sleep.

Aimed torches at the night,

arms raised to the sky,

we tested each dark window.


Now, sleepwalking bodies clear

a path back to ashes

made of wax and trees

only the moon sees.


From this bridge we

call to the quiet

where ghosts play music to

passers by.


We’re all riding toward something

on trains that move us backward,

but even in flames we find

awake people sleeping.


Even after all this burning

people still seem to be looking

for stars and galaxies and planets

to blame for their existence.


Some stories get written in the dark

and burn just like we planned.

Even if we didn't plan it.




Brooke Mogy

Brooke Mogy is a recent Performing Arts graduate, living in South Carolina. She currently works for the City of Florence Parks and Recreation, programming activities for teens. This is her first online publication. Connect with Brooke on her website & Instagram.