I saw death from the top of a hill
in shadowy form it swept above
the rumpled bed of my love
my lover, my love
my river of life
in the dirty dry desert.
I have no need for commitment or wife
yet from the top of the hill
I see you, my lover of life.
The oasis of palm fronds
and figs hanging in clusters from branches.
When the earth stands still
the river no longer will flow
and the roots that we planted
have ceased to grow and
to green,
to steam the air within the soil
within the piles of compost and tinfoil and trash.
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