you wait up in the lighthouse,
closer to god, closer to your miracle.
you do not know how to live in a world
where you are not loved–
and so, you still believe.
but i stand at the cusp of the ocean,
searching for the last terns to fly out.
those migrating martyrs–
all dead by next year.
and yet, you still believe?
you keep tally marks up there–
of days of unanswered prayers.
i keep lists down here–
of rows of species we drove to dust.
truth be told, i once trusted
that if god foresaw the death of his earth,
then he would not have
made her so.
now i know this much–
if humans wanted god’s unconditional love,
unconditionally they would have
kept his planet so.