The tree folds over the field, Its leaves are dust in between air, Flowers only grow in deserts. The beaches grew taller and wider, They walked along the roads we build, And turned our cities to sand castles. We wash away the water, We replace it with rain drops, Pouring into the dry sewage. A little sprout pokes out, Return to green. In a valley of scarecrows, Dead stray and sticks broken, What used to be a meadow, Is now the graveyard of feeding prey. Horse skulls and rib cages, Glowing white light in the day, Like the last snow that ever fell, Never again to, Return to green. A cat walked across a lake, A pond, a stream, The ocean was too far for it to walk, The fish were dry on the crust, The Grand Canyon would be easier. A dog growls at its owners grave, No one dug it, no one visits it, He is only digging down, down, down, Till he digs out the dirt, Scratches through the coffin, And by then he is already dead, Buried with his human by another, There to rob his wrists. Best friends at eternal rest, Returning to green.
Alejandro Barton-Negreiros, ’23