They make shadows like small spiders skittering across the ground.
They fall lightly
without a sound.
The old timers tell me there was a time
When you could see the sun.
So bright and full and round
There was danger of burning your eyes looking at it too long.
I can’t imagine this in a world I have only known
So solid that nothing grows
There is no hope or laughter.
Only our eyes, noses, mouths
Filling with these carbon ashes.
Drinkers with Writing Problems 
