i
can't fathom
what
a scorched earth
might
look like
maybe
not much different
from
what exists
right
now
the
forests cough
like
a constant covid
the
riverbed becomes
a
fire corridor
that's
not water on the road
but
only a mirage
there's
a pile of twisted steel
for
every broken body
on
the field of battle
the
trenches of mariupol
leave
thousands
wandering
before dying
some
say there's a price to pay
before
you leave this world
i'm
not so sure you ever leave
maybe
what becomes
your
memory
is
your penance
the
ocean steams
like
it's on its last horizon
we
offer up our hands
before
the great wave
what
passes through
is
what passes through
--- e b bortz
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