Sinaloa Ashes Of Giants
sounds, wavering in their youth, end a silence that
followed fury. for the first time in months, the sun
rose, and battered the waking earth with light. it rained
warmth on frozen ground, and uncovered the ruins of
night. no more would giants bend the earth. water melted,
and again began to move – washing over the buried bones
of giants. gathering, from the fallen, what could be
used, the water held promise. no more would giants bend
the earth. the hands of industry had to give up their
grip, when the bodies weakened with their own girth. the
fires that engulfed the earth were, now, only ash and
silt. the giants that set them were destroyed by what
they built. water then carried the distilled remnants of
what gave them breath, but left buried what gave them
greed and guilt. for the first time, in months, the sun
rose, and battered the waking earth with light. it rained
warmth on frozen ground, and uncovered the ruins of
night. no more would giants bend the earth.
explanation
this is an addendum, or postscript, to 'the earth is on
fire'. this takes place after the imagined apocalypse,
and life has not ended – although the species that was
the architect of destruction is gone. moreover, the
biological imprint of the deceased (lacking the desperate
drive to grow for growth's sake) carries life on into a
new era. one of rebirth, and of healing.
