Ruination

This earth is hers alone, no matter
how many feet pound and churn its dust.
She finds ignoring the bodies that are laid to rest
in six-foot depths an easy task, for she knows
that she belongs to rising mountains tipped in ice
and shimmering pools, so innocent – their depths
hide breathless secrets, the sort who had lungs before
they simply gave out without the relief of air.

But it is the scorch of the sun, unearthly and foreign
at her back and the fading colors of the sky,
the tread of her feet on sliding desert dirt and
cracked lips that cry out desperate for water, Lord, please
give me water, that she belongs to most, a desert
that she fondly considers to be hers.

The earth rises to encase her, whispering
'my child', and it dares her, taunts her, makes
her cross the unforgiving deserts and she is
not unhappy – not unafraid to go. She will
trek through hallucinations and starvations
and she will burn up from the light of that
scorching star. She will let golden skin sear boiling red
and the expanse of her feet on the expanse of burning dirt
gives way to relentless blisters before she cannot simply
cannot feel anything at all.

She will come to ruination in this desert,
where she belongs.