[https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/afde0992-d968-4a18-9f6c-e26dab6c2540/d5fiifg-7083c614-6d52-4598-9355-ed22fe11639e.jpg/v1/fit/w_418,h_685,q_70,strp/madonna_ii_by_cerealnovels_d5fiifg-375w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9Njg1IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvYWZkZTA5OTItZDk2OC00YTE4LTlmNmMtZTI2ZGFiNmMyNTQwXC9kNWZpaWZnLTcwODNjNjE0LTZkNTItNDU5OC05MzU1LWVkMjJmZTExNjM5ZS5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9NDE4In1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.OFX95cN3vGv3kL1gDKF0u_ZnbB_fpULJhPTZkae_0mk]
We had forgotten
the sound of thunder,
the feel of cold rain.
Our landscape—
scorched by sun’s
constant heat,
birthed wild fires.
Now, we sit
in ashes.
Vultures,
with singed wings,
circle overhead.
After so much loss
we refuse to be carrion,
We stand—
We walk—
toward a future
that only our hope
can reveal.