and the rivers run dry,
my tears are salted stains
and still I hope as flesh clings to bone
so I look for the aspens crowded gold
in the high coulees - there is peace
in their trembling songs
it is my imperative, as necessary
as anything worth living for,
to understand their language
what can I say to the ravagers
among us, the man in the suit
with his wealth and swagger?
he does not believe in Life, does not see
what is vanishing - that what is seared
will burn him too
the future has been written, some say that
Crimes Against the Environment
will see his name soaked in oil
what will he tell his children
when the fires come over the hill?
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