gas stop
at the forest edge—
in fifty years
it will all be trees
in the catacombs
the maze to escape
forever mired in the
desertscape of time
with failing breath
they lunge for land
when there is only
the drowning sea below
Poetry of Love, Nature, Spirituality, and Dreams
gas stop
at the forest edge—
in fifty years
it will all be trees
in the catacombs
the maze to escape
forever mired in the
desertscape of time
with failing breath
they lunge for land
when there is only
the drowning sea below