The earth has spoken for a long time. And where you can stand, we once swam, crushing shells, eating flesh inside. Our jaws could rip your fingerbones like pink anemone. Now the floods have dried to hot autumn days. Juts and strata seem shocked to space.
Tourists crawl and walk across here, underneath imagined water.
They smoke and picnic, taking pictures, taking rocks. They'll stand on a ledge, sometimes, and squint against a light I never saw, alive. I will swim in your museum air and kill. Ultrasound shivers my bones, astonished. Such care you give the old, discovered dead.