One day, the life that flowed through you
will be gone,
leaving only
the husks of your bones
to dry in the sun.
One day, the sun, wind, and rain
will erode those bones,
leaving only
the impact you had
on the landscape.
Tag: Time
i was here
hello. this is your house; i’m aware.
i don’t know how to say this kindly, but
i was here
before you.
i was here
before that blonde house-flipper in the flannel made cheap renovations to the facade.
i was here
before the previous family fell into addiction and the house fell into squalor.
i was here
before the men in hard hats put together the 'good bones' the realtor told you about.
i was here
before ox hooves and wagon wheels left tracks in my mud.
i was here
before the first humans foraged for huckleberries and hunted deer in my foliage.
i was here
first.
i will continue to be here
after i’m done with you.
Sunrise at Bryce Canyon
You're on the edge of a plateau overlooking a valley of hoodoos dusted with remnants of yesterday's snowfall. Predawn light is faint, cold; the air shivers in short gusts of wind. In a century, the platform your feet are on will not be there, eroded by air and water down the cliff face's arches like frames of a cathedral's stained glass windows.
But before that
Inevitably, the universe will end; electrons will no longer spin around nuclei, and everything will stop. But before that, the Milk Way will be consumed by the blackhole at its core, leaving only void in its wake. But before that, the sun will swallow Earth as it grows into a red giant and explodes. But before that, living on Earth will no longer be sustainable; temperatures and sea levels will rise beyond the point of any coping mechanisms. But before that, you will die; a small tragedy on the scale of things, but a tragedy nonetheless.
About the Future
Sometimes, when you think of the future, you see all the branches— all the if-thens— trunk to branch to stem. Sometimes, when you think of the future, all the branches look barren— no fruit or flower or leaf. Somewhere, in the temporal pathways, you breech the outer bark, prune branches. Somewhere, in the temporal pathways— if you squint— on the edge of the smallest lateral, a bud blooms.
Zugg’s Song
the road is long horizon o’er horizon the past is here constantly dying the flowers grow in soil dry and rancid the future’s gone murky, cannot grasp it these walls, these caves contain the moments that have made us flow in, flow out like air these moments can suffocate us if we let them if we let them
This poem is part of a collection called Shards of Kardpaz, which are texts I’ve written for the world of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I run with students at my school.
M. Espinosa 