October 2011
The highway is on fire.
Signposts watch, faceless and impassive.
What are they thinking?
Impossible to tell.
No radar signals
Return from the journeys
We send them on.
Condors circle
Dying out mid-flight
While the world opens up its mouths.
“I love you,” it breathes out.
“You will come back to me.”
Will we come back?
We don’t remember the good earth.
We never knew her waters
Before they crashed against the shore
In the Bay of Fundi.
Throwing themselves again and again
Against the spectacle.
Seeking suicide in porous stone.
“Te amo,” cry the waves.
“Te amo.”
We are dying.
