Reconciliation

The hills of Gondwana did not bear your hatred 
and split thereby. Nor did the species spread 
to your design, nor the arc of planets your geometry 
nor does your brain pump its heart for you, nor is a crimson skyline, 
the burning juniper, great canyon
and the depth of wilderness perfect for your poem, your picture 

Those tears can never wet the desert, even the sun 
nukes skin. Even life is a metaphor for death 
and all written words, the colours on blank,
a secret reconciliation with that death 

Yet still

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