The Valley Of Manta Eggs

By Willow Kang

We glide like kites atop a cliff, not kites

that voracious rifles execute, 

but those children play with in the grass 

beneath us is a valley of manta eggs,

carefully buried by their long-lost

mothers among the floating sand 

the hatchlings would fear us & the

acidic rains that drizzles from our capes 

so many more worlds to be crossed

before the immortal nectar we bear

can be restored 

now, we are content with simply being

cocooned beings, unwelcome 

to epiphanies in this fractal country