buildings will crumble
like our bones wrapped in flesh and skin,
nothing is ever permanent
not even the bodies we try to keep sacred
the bloodstreams and rivers will run dry
while the sun loses touch
and our eyes may lose their sight
everything will feel departing like fragile infants,
crawling through rotting dust
we will seek for guidance when our vision leads us astray,
when our hands mold into the forgotten ground

n.j.