Ground Zero

What eye barely blinks
in what firmament, 
trying out oblivion

on us? Halons pierce 
the ozone blanket 
and omens drop from the skies:
dead birds, powdered bees.

The world burns and thirsts
and bodies fill the earth.
As waters grow heavy,

coral reefs put on white
funeral clothes. 
Once, I plucked a tiny 
bleached skull out of sparse 

grass— its rostrum still
a small wonderment, hinging 
at the flange where the two 

mandibles join: where a mouth
had opened and asked for such
a small need to be filled.   


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