by Shaun Lawton
Beneath the sands of time we rise at a glacial pace
across an epochal span in splendor to displace
The twisted roots of trees with labyrinthine city states
captured by degrees in this sanguine, august space
Our conariums affixed to monitor our dreams
and regulate our sleep with circadian slipstreams
In perfect synchronicity with our planetary host
more than serendipity against a windblown seacoast
With chronometric coordination and through each indrawn breath
we suffer the realization in life of our ecstatic slide towards death
to sink below the desert dunes at such an evanescent rate
and abandon our discarded masks for the providence we must await
