Once ocean, now land.
Mother. Why shred
Your gown...
Why destroy your
Garden...
Once land, now ocean.
Mother. Do you not
Love
Your face...
Precision of a
Scapel...
Fault lines
Slide, slip,
Slice...
Tectonic dust
Drips through my
Fingers...
Like water.
Mother...why?
Laughing...
She is choosing
A different
Gown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Never mind Elysabeth, it is all returning to origin real soon - Gaia will reconcile it all and rid herself of terraforming parasites! Rgds, Ivan