Poem Seven: Forest

Poem Seven: Forest

The Amazon forest is nearly gone.

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This is the burning season.

What once streamed runs dry.

Trees cut down 

and raised as churches.

A man survives

with two hearts.  

Spirits. Smoke.

Forgotten gods.

The hum of chainsaws

and gunshots keeps rising.

God comes 

with mud.

God comes 

as an outlaw.

Does God open 

a seed in ash?  

Who will remember

the names of trees?

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