Euros Distant and I Wail

I’ve had to delve

Always deeper, coursing through

Years, millenia, aeons, eras geological

Physically immaterial, past

Gazing as my sentiments deposed

As sediments, as thin lines

And bands and banners on the face of a cliff

I’m the reverse alpinist, the spelunker

Gazing down into the abyss

And watching her look back

Seeking out answers, petrified, as fossils,

Thin lines of ash tracing that which killed Eris

And Eros, the cataclysm, vanquishing Euros and Eos

Setting them all to rest

My mass extinction event, my little ice age,

Six (hundred) (thousand) (million) years have passed

Over my calcified memories surfacing slowly

Floating weightless, lighter than my twenty grams of soul

Passing above me-for I am caught by quicksands,

The cliff bringing me to my knees, and torso, and eyes,

Turning me to sand, to a thin line of blood-red rust

Marking my volcanic winter on the cliffs

Of those who will follow