Those ancient trees are falling, drowning in ravines –
Limbs, whipping against the skies,
The wind giving voice to their cries!
Flaming sunsets lick and burn the edges of consciousness; 
Like smoke drifting from my dirt-encrusted lips.

Run for the River –
Our lives depend on it!
Leave hurried, putrid comforts behind –
Enveloped within the carcass of fallen trees;
Even the eye of a child can see,
How far we have fallen from divinity.