Euthanasia

The heat, the sand, the

empty horizon, we can

feel it all as we wade

across the dusk of time.

As if our names have

been vaporized, it is

easy for us to slip

across borders, not

to belong to anyone,

to any nation. On land

stripped of crust, dusted

with flour, we roam

from oasis to oasis,

trading stories as if it is

the exchange of seeds.

We consume everything

without suspicion, for a

part of our minds

reflects the desert

precisely. One should

know that life is life

because it bears death

with it. It races in us,

imploding time and

geography the way

maps compress the

earth onto paper, a

consuming of ourselves

and of our pasts.