I am tired. I walk among
the half-buried, my handprints pressed
into the sky; the emptied houses
semaphore endlessly. All the sediment
we called God’s bad rains—who could say
what now drags its tail through?
There are some who will survive
any spectacle. I hold
a mirror to my lips to see
what happens.
from “The Shores of Babylon”
Tupelo Quarterly, vol VII.27