Be The Change
Anthropocene
Is it wrong to love this world like a newborn swaddled
in peach skin, beech-tree bark, silt at the mouth of a
stream whose headwater is starlight, is ocean-honey,
is upwell of grief? World we once called mother, how
we have aged you, your fires and floods unfamiliar now,
your Tradewinds sighs of grief, signs of awful things come
to pass: you are as though reborn in our image, gods who
invented gods to quiet our minds and
