We stand at the bottom of eroded earth but stand
on the dried remainders of what eroded it.
The destroyer destroyed
dismantled by the exposure of the sun.
Water separated from its salt,
moves on to keep being and impacting.
Sight inhibited solely by the curve of the earth
At the bottom of Death Valley,
where the Devil’s nails cracked into and collected dirt.
The devil scooped out of me with his fingers
but maybe God did so I may fill with some other thing
I am a topographical map,
changing like wind would
you know movement is not just in me it’s on me.
Seeing this way, while painful,
bore a fruit:
recognizing the unstoppability of affection.
That my limitations have no effect on forces of outside control.
So I still crave sweet juice
though it will not be born in
sun beats and dry heats.
So I may not thirst
but I crave and I crave luxury of satisfying a sweet tooth.