We can’t save the world from the coming storm,
or won’t—the same as can’t—not even ourselves—
a hardening of arteries—
watching the super bowl and thinking it real.
Cheese served with crackers and a red

from the hill country—telling ourselves we’re buying
local.  A summer tomato grown in the back yard,
grown under netting to keep birds away,
picked ripe along with a few basil leaves—
A mother tries to nurse her baby, 

but her milk has dried.  The baby cries without
sound or tears—and God—
is busy building or destroying stars,
a galaxy or two—The woman squats on the ground
holding her child—

                        from Dust