Dimmed Sun

A world-ending wave, last page in a book washing all away where what people made once stood. The land breathes in the center of our bones, a rudderless world. On a clouded road through moments of lives, we will lose the me and the you. It’s only us in this, this rudderless world. Sweat in our eyes and paint on our feet. No arms to wave, but brushes in our teeth. Seven kalpas later, we fell through the tomb. The cages left grids of tan on our backs, a relief of blisters, our heads in sacks. I saw a hanging while I hid from disease, infinite hunters aiming at me. Celestial shipwrecks with corded phones, a speck of dust in time alone. Silent, paranoid in the hollow of a ceiba tree, crawling through cracks of game theory. The tears of the mother give the seeds water. The trees give us crosses to hang one another. The tears of the mother give the seeds water.