a cargo ship carrying egyptian
papyrus docks in byblos
and a wind carries red sand
across the desert of mars.
a babylonian priest sacrifices
a female calf in the temple of ishtar,
the wright brothers run adjacent
to the ocean at kitty hawk.
i’m breathing, breathing deeply
on the summit of a mountain
in nepal. in india, brahmins are
performing tantric orgies in the firelight.
and i’m breathing, breathing slowly.
the first man to die on mars was cremated
and spread outside the artificial habitat
near the deuterium mines where water once flowed.
a priest on earth prayed for his soul on tv.
i achieve enlightenment after a thousand lifetimes,
joining the buddha in nirvana, i ask him, “what now?”
he shrugs and says, “go back.”
i join a team of anthropologists exploring the jungle
of a primitive continent long abandoned by civilization.
i study a tribe of people living in the corroded steel ruins
of an ancient city. the tribe tells me they are descended
from a race called the americans. they have no gods,
they worship only the most powerful among them.
a spark is falling on a scroll in the library of alexandria.
saharan sand is covering the sphinx up to its neck.
ocean levels rise until new york and dubai are underwater.
colonists on mars terraform the planet, building beaches and
resorts and now even the wealthy want to move there.
i’m reading a book that says human suffering
is a booming industry—adam smith’s invisible hand
is strangling us and we worship the hand
as if it belongs to god. i’m reading another book that says
the way to kill god is to stop worshipping him.
in ten thousand years, the sky opens and jesus
descends to earth, walks down the street of a city
built where jerusalem once was. the people
look at him, confused, and say, “who are you?”
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