We don’t like to feel obligated.
We like to think we are the masters, choosing,
cannot slow the speed of circuits
round an insignificant and tiny star.
We don’t like to love in that way.
It’s too hard to respond, to face the truth that we
must wither as the rivers dry out,
must be earth-bound, locked-down
as the insect populations drop;
only the birds who thrive in cities
still abroad.
We say we are the apex predator,
In a language no other can speak to contradict;
the land does not make a comment,
or fight,
turns her back
as we turn to plastic-laced dust
bleaching in the now
unfiltered sun.