The Desert

Maybe the desert is our future
and I will sanctify us.
Maybe when the trees have been
all cut down, and green is
ended; when the mighty
waters are so choked
with rope and plastic, and
all our rubbish where nothing
lives; when the mounds
of our detritus on the land
tower above us; and the
blood of animals choke
our gorges; then

there will be no birdsong
and the silence of the
wind will scour us, the
sand grains blowing on our
skin will scourge us,
living memory
of the green hills
will die
and we will be left alone

dying of thirst
in a man-made desert.
It will cleanse us.  Maybe
it has to be
for us to grow into the
kind of humans we were
meant to be from the
beginning when the wild
stars, the bursting suns
blew their seeds
into the dark wastes.

We head towards
the desert, causing it
as we go.  Maybe
we need to be fully
barren here, in order 
to grow.

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