• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 11
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Nature Deletes its Social Media Profiles

One has to imagine

whale song between the violence
of traffic-bark and airplane-roar, one has to

imagine their oasis: the only soundtrack
the thrumming of nature against itself.

Let us be islands and may the waves rise
up between us, never to meet, never

to encroach our sour notes upon each other,
for we are unclean, unclean, with our smoke

and our oil and our artificial light
a fist held up to the starry sky,

threshing our desires against
the grindstone of survival.

May the cloud come in and preach modesty:
if we couldn’t see our mirrors, perhaps

we would stop creating our own suffering.
One has to imagine.