In the end we are water,

moving with air,

carving our bodies into earth

Remember me,

we say,

but there is no way

to forget the shape of a river

Do you think of me when

you build dams

and wipe your hands

of the soil that made you?


I will think of you

someday,

away from false worlds

where we work like ants

under magnifying glasses

Someday,

the sun’s rays

won’t burn us,

but warm us from the porch

as we watch the horizon melt

behind the hills



11/3/22