The Black (pt. 2)

In seventeen years

All the roots have settled

The roots are strong,

They breathe.

In seventeen years

Our sun has curated

Created

Our plentiful harvests

One after another, and another.

And through and through our food

Is water

Is empty

From centuries of mineral thinning

Under ground.

A watermelon is water

But so is the potato

And the pumpkin.

Do we not see?

We see, we hear

We experience

We see, we feel

We do not understand.

And after every thought

The black is nearing

Eager to waste this enlightenment.