Prodigal

The carrion eaters
are circling in a desert sky,
called by your relentless decay.

You who are prodigal
with time waste hours,
spilling minutes
on the ground as carelessly as water.

In the dry time when
cold-blooded creatures
crawl onto the rocks to sun themselves
the heat they crave will desiccate you.

Before you mummified desire,
His used to be a paradise,
lush, green, expansive,
before you took away the topsoil
and the rich heart of the earth blew away,
there was the possibility of love.

An insufficient steward,
your anger brought sirocco
and all that was quick and lithe
withered at your rejection.

Now that there are no more waterfalls
you who are prodigal look back in sorrow
and weep dry, sand soaked tears.

This poem won Second Place in the First Annual Rainy Day Records/Gravity Poetry Contest.