(for my nephew)
No one knows how dinosaurs died.
There are theories, but we have no proof.
Do you think that’s why we give them voice,
give them feelings and a mission
when we turn their dust into TV shows
and use their feathers to write storybooks?
Is that why we can’t just let them go,
these unknowable, impossible things
—a whole species on which the earth cut its teeth—
while we wonder if we’re next?
I wish I had the words to explain to you
the weight of the burden of impossible things.
Things I do not know how to carry.
But I do know how to carry you.
You are not and will never be
an impossible thing.
And my love for you will never go extinct.
Even if my bones crush and my teeth bury,
do not make my love a cartoon of itself.
They find animals we thought gone, alive all the time
—heart beating, death defied.
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