It is said in the beginning, there was the word.
The embrace of sorrow you share is beyond words.
It enfolds us in Spirit, masquerading as emptiness.

Our birth names will also disappear into ether,
the names of our body parts and our relations
given to the ink wet mourning of Mother ocean,

To the wind’s insufferable howling, to the
crackling terror of the fire, to the cracked,
parched and battered dirt of Mother earth

Whose beloved landforms themselves
have disappeared. We, the invisible ones,
are now indivisible too. We, who once sat

Still, our backs resting against strong, tall,
straight trunks of ancient redwood trees.
Now humans, once brimming with love,

Have lost their tears, first frozen on blistered
cheeks, then melted by the sun’s cascading
rays. No future beings can ever find them.

We swallow hard, speak of constant motion,
homelessness, dissolving into indecipherable
particulate of the flying, twirling, falling

Yearning ash. We will join them, cover
everything and not be known. The place where
tiny specks land cannot register as home.

Finally, only Spirit knows what words remain.