i.
I am thirsty
Like the sycamore,
Whose ancient roots reach
For a water that is no longer
There
The sacred springs are brown and brittle
The aquifers, depleted
The thirsty earth is everywhere
I go
It is one thing for a tree to die
It is another for an ecosystem to wane, and perish
But to watch the world around you burn —
I wonder if this is a grief that any humans knew
Before us
Worlds rise and fall
But this is the one
To which we belong
Where will we be go?
There is nowhere
I know.
It is the world of spirit
Which awaits us, and
Its fingers, like plumes of rising smoke
Beckon me closer
With each passing year
