By the Bye



The sky vibrates. It’s colour’s stretched

on winds that make




Tourists fly in capsules

enacting the selfish irony of leisure

that travel somehow

broadens the mind


We brag with foreign trophies

that our lives are full

and meaningful. Blind perhaps that we are

the forebears of extinction


Those silver fish that glint

high in super-cooled blue air

we glimpse with the gift of gravity

are shards of conscience. Pin pricks in flight


Our borrowed time is the inheritance

of us. Our genes. Our simple proclivity

to see only what’s in the frame

To stall in ignorance. The complicity of fate.

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