She Is Crying

To pull the fire of sun down like a bomb,

into the west, is not a spell I know.

From dusk to dusk, from ash to frond of palm,

I call upon the lightning bugs to glow.

The gods of man, too young to know their end,

have written a commandment on the flesh:

“Consume; produce.” What does the mark portend?

I eat my tale and thus fulfill the geis.

Salacious Thirst, no ocean can allay,

Great Hunger, swallow all and thus be free.

Fat gassy beasts, in drunkenness we lay

waste on the earth and urine in the sea.

I am his brother, breathing his last breath.

She is our Mother, praying for Her death.