The fire is beautiful too. The flood. The desertification.

We are dying a man-made, white-washed, corporate responsibility death.

We are conquerors, conquered, conned.

The con is this – we need to breath, to feed, to seed…

…and also this – we bleed.

So, it’s beautiful. You see?

The fires, the flood, the desertification. You see.

Our death is nature-made, earth-bound, heaven-sent.

There are consequences – conquerors, conquered, conned – the con ends.

Praise the consequences. We bleed, we see, we are free.

I was six.

Two long braids.

Beaded head band,

arcing over black hair.

Sun darkened skin,

kissed with light.

And the prettiest dress.

Not too big to be carried.

Small enough to avoid responsibility.

But just big enough to feel free.

My favorite me.

A bitter light

sings  in the darkness.

It thinks itself a dying ember,

taking its last breaths.

Its sighs and susurrations

pulsate unevenly.

Who will remind

this fallen flame

the dark dwellers

rely on this beacon

to tell stories

of the dawning day?