Stale Erosion

These globes of glass, clandestinely inert,
Contained translucent seas: the brine of sick,
Insensate waters thought to purge the soul
Of tragedy.

 

They focus on most recent, lasting plagues:
A savage desert grips the seasons; salt
Begins to rain across the former green
And auburn forests, drought depletes the clouds
Of moisture, mummifies the aquifers,
And grass is left to rust. 

                

                So now these empty worlds,
No longer ripe as Eve's curvaceous sin,
Revolve to find some folded face and spine
Whose contents sing, with sodden gasps that soak
These barren orbs, of dismal scripture.  Years

Elapse without these pages; happy words
                            
                                     amusing them.