The Sky Behind, The Graves Below

A Poem

For weeks in Mexico, I dream.

A regretful bear stops to tell me - “I am sorry I eat all these people with hopes and dreams”. The sky behind, the graves below.

I fish for a Kraken. I watch the men off shore haul up arms the size of buildings. My rod and my bait are wholly inaccurate for the task in this post apocalyptic universe. The sky behind, the graves below.

A jaguar lays in leaves cut green by rain and the yellowing humidity of the jungle. His eyes are large and coated over with…