The Coffin

Ian Walters

…and on the last day,
when the breeding currents slowed,
uncoiled the last creature, and
curled off into the sands
to wither…

…where hot winds swept him up;
scattered him on salt-choked fish,
suffocated on shriveled fins,
mud-imprinting the cracked ash
of their unraveled kin…

…where once rivers, veins of dust…

…where once songbirds,
wires of scavengers, perched,
vulturine…

…and all a mirage,
drying in the sun…

…and on the last day,
a chipped concrete block,
pitted and pocked,
a scarred pact encairned,
scored by a hundred apologies
in a hundred languages…