Decide
to trudge in a sweaty flesh of moisture
while waterless specks yield in profusion,
and the dunes tug on your shoes,
begging you to pen a sentence
they have tried forever to compose.
you become the desert’s ghostwriter,
coerced on topics such as gone mountains
and oceans stolen away drop by drop.
it is you, now, who must eulogize
all the disintegrated glories under your feet.
you who must mollify
the hungers that lap at your ankles,
beseeching in heat waves.
it is you, a mere passing puff of sentience,
who must decide.
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6/30/24
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