I came across a disembodied lake, no life left beneath its surface. Neither otters or amoeba would dip their toes, wear oil-slicked clothes, predisposed to freezing over.
I waged steps through a barren jungle, trees in fungal death throes, all others stripped.
Skinny dipping newspaper clippings, wishfully thinking these storms might come to an end.
Where we walk along dead trails, their meadows used to assail
lack of calm,
there’s only black grass now, a scorched earth psalm
the relentless assault of oxygen