Using the line "only through us and nothing changed" and "seagreen white" from "The Sun of Auschwitz" by Tadeusz Borowski.
It was Friday. The asphalt came raining down,
some earthquake of humanity in the middle of a desert.
My neighborhood, torn apart by weather, existed only through us,
and nothing changed. Even when you told me you loved
the idea of me, the idea of a swing on a tree in the front yard of a picket fence,
a dog chasing two stubby legs in Oshkosh around, thinking it a plaything.
In the plywood rubble, I thought of building on the sand,
rocks and grass obviously didn't work before.
Seagreen white can't be the color of the world.
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