To plant in our desert garden
Our own Easter Island
Once covered by tall forests
We now have to settle for sand
And the leftover augur shells
Still rising from a long-dead ocean
We keep moving around the earth
From the same reticulated past
With so much to remember
We have to pick what lasts
If we could only make up our minds
One stone is a shapely fish-head
With a tiny white shell for an eye
Aimed toward the sunset sky
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