An Offering to the Desert

They are in the desert, 
under a dusty sun, in a place I will know to be

They have flown miles, day and night,
running from the winds of a hurricane,
driven like leaves on the breath of the sky
to a place where there is a temple waiting to be burned.
And I ask you, what comes after rust? Even suns
burn low, even hydrogen runs out.

And I will answer,
I am the spirit of reckless abandon.

All I ask this universe is one holy moment,
just one. I don't want it all
to stay still. All I
want is it all to blow away
in a puff of smoke and
ashes like a temple burning
in the desert.
I want
us to decay like
good loam turned under
like the corners of our
sheets when we remake the
bed in order to retain some
semblance of stasis.

Vishnu never loved us: little
pockets of breaking desire,
Shiva's children who shake the
earth with dammed rivers and
drills. This is not wrong.
They're only endings.
We are always saying goodbye.

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