I cry about this country.

As I travel &bout in between the sliced stone mount&ins.

The train is a salt dipped saw.

Sawing back and forth in the wounds.
I watch the relentless invasion of lantana. We open the cuts and rip off

Bandaids

I cry for you country.
A tree’s single scream lasts years.
When I die, you will have my body.

You take my water, you take my bone.
When we have our dead days,

I will think on you.
The day we finally go, is the day, we finally return.