My sister burns into a blackened
corpse, her green body curling
into a carbon galaxy shimmering
opaque starless and alone.

A tree speaks differently than a man,
the wind the rustle the leaves are
thoughts and whispers and memories.

A broken thorn pleads;
‘Why do you cut?’
‘Why do you smash us?’
‘Have you no pity in you?’

Under a cold gray sky my Mother weeps
her muddy shoulders tremble, pockmarked
by greed, poverty and an absent god.