Daniel Seabaugh

All we see is dust
but this once was 
a garden.
It seeks to cover us 
and bind us to its ways.

I’m like a desert owl
an owl among the ruins. 
Distressed, 
I groan aloud 
Reduced to skin and bones. 

Oh, these wild things
The passing days,
the hours of despair.

Yet, the sky is widening
As the hours pass,
the error is covered by his wounds.