After the Apocalypse

Concrete precipitates out of freeway overpasses,

creating sand dunes from

eroding metal shells

of forgotten transportation.

Listen to the khamsin howl--

desert grit rolling down, breaking

levers, gears, pitted hulls

abandoned before the winds reversed.

See with ancient tar eyes

bones sunken beneath a hard and frozen crust,

and the sudden cascade--

disintegration released in water,

ticking drops of passage,

portals of rainfall,

a reckoning focused on renewal--

each seed, desire

sprawled through a waste of human discards.

Between rotted tire treads,

greenness yawns a leafy mouth,

stretching as he wakes

and climbs from brown mother,

the shadows of defeat

cast behind.

Light filters through the flood, coaxing

to the heights of men--

and his siblings touch the sun.