If All The Birds Fall From The Sky

[marc]

If all the fields are yellow and crucified by
the unchanging hands of man,
if the electronic furnace never loses its intensity,
if the emerald of the planet is crushed
beneath a foot fall of brutal ballot boxes,
if the forests are reduced to a womb stripped
of fertility,
if the delicacy of flowers become forgotten memories,
if human hands are washed away by burning
raindrops,
if the path of wonder is replaced by a desolate
avenue of despair,
if the birds all fall from the sky
and children bury them in mason jars,
if science fails to discover the vast ocean
of the soul,
if we continue to ignore the trembling
of the frog, the doe and the timber wolf,
if our constant onslaught of the Earth persists
without hesitation,
then I step toward my eventual transfiguration
with a sorrowful but almost
ethereal anticipation
behind my eyes.