A stampede for the shore

The buffalo herd wave,

spray, like prairie dust

below its feet,

stampedes for the shore.

There will be

casualties.

In its wake

toppled children

add to the brine

with their salty tears.

To shake off this dust,

To shake off this dust,
from whence I came,
Eden's spawn

 so long ago
is beyond my measure.

 

This contaminated creation dust,
self sullied selfish grime,
clings in daily torment
and draws me

ever closer
to the dust

whose siren call
creates time.