If the Sky Clears...

Sky filled
with vultures.

I am filled
with dust.

The whole sky

bears its own
dark purpose.

I am flesh
fallen from bone.

A vast wasteland.

The uneasy weight
of discontent, the sun.

Exposes thought.
Needles in sand.

I think of water.
The sea. Shadows.

A time before
all death became

dried up, disappointed.
A fallen body.

The wind is hot.
It reminds me

of misgivings.
Searing moments

of coherence. Of
some estranged sense

of the existence
of water. Of plans.
Of cold resolutions.

You must travel
many days, many nights

to reach a shoreline.
Perhaps, you may-

if the sky clears.

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