We ran from malevolent heat,
abandoning hollow skeleton
skyscrapers back to the sands.
Now, occasional car roofs are shiny
islands, hotel lobbies lie half
buried, billboards are bleached
and peeling like burnt skin.
Even here, as far north as we
could get, the air is arid.
Water is a sometimes blessing.
Someday soon we will lie down,
transmute our flimsy bodies
into sand. Atoms of ourselves
will circumnavigate the globe
In great dust storms. We will
become diffuse and settle in dunes.
Earth will exhale for millenia,
an unheard release of tension.
Before starting again slowly,
a few vines starting to appear,
reclaiming our empty buildings.
Nature always plays the long game.