I met a man hammering stakes into the lawn, his art branded me, carving bloodlines deep into the core — where ancestors, ancient temples, the old ways burned a rage in me I fear I cannot control for much longer.

The desert was once a rolling, ferocious wave, teeming with life.

His precious wood-soaked face, lined with remnants of once upon a time long ago, tall and lean and proud. Only the eagle knows.

There are two nursing nesting babies on top of that hill, above concrete sightlines and borderless trees. They make sad, pathetic sounds, like the squall before a storm.

What would I have been, had the world not had its way with me?

My fists curl. Remembering. Resonating…where the beautiful are reduced to ashes the ugly with their Cadillac smiles buy and sell as polished blood diamonds far, far from here.

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