you are filling in too many bottles for the city in fire. these little girls carry rages in their palms then heavy voices, every time they sketch a line, it ignites your homeland silently. don’t mistaken them for a whisper.
All the bottles with hollow cripples, plenty of fear from ancestors holding seven ages ; I reckon they will calm your city, almost like spacecrafts crashing into bridges.
for it took villages of daughters to mould in
and rise from an ashy town. unpacking the remnants into seas. it took four hundred types of changing climates and nineteen mountains to fall apart in growing back the forest around.
i fear it will drown your city in that water itself all over again. don’t you see?