I am the call for winters that will not come,
I am the need for more trees and polar bears,
I am the bright citation of all things living,
I am the custodian of the refuge you left behind.

Deep inside the shorn hill, running high with sweet water,
the call for obliteration finds another expression.
Pale thighs mount midnight’s bio basic thirst,
but eternal life is just my genetic echo in matter.

I am the sound of no hand clapping,
I am the pain of extinction’s toll,
I am the form that fades with fall,
I am the trees that feed my lungs.