Scratch
of sandy crust and
mosquito song
Around and up I twist my hands
toward sky beyond bush, bird, beetle
Slaughterhouse
of screeching shrikes
My thumbs the helpless killing floors
of writhing lizards
Their blood runs down my arms
Stumble
toward altars to erosion
who appeared but were not formed
Time forces them ever higher
My roots ever wider
Searching
starving for the water
who fled taking all gods except
the Sun.
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