God's organic clothes are coming unglued,
seasonal seams tearing apart,
emerging alarmingly chaotic
whatever, dissonance?
Supremely straight white noise?
Next time,
I'll recover your naked monolithic culture
in clothes of hard rooted wood
and yet how would you wear them?
Who could?
Perhaps we did
when God grew a tree
like earthy S/He.
Children of Me/We healthy trees
defectively praying for underfed worker bees
while ripping apart Earth's fertile forests
becoming undressed deserts
Unflowing river sand beds
bereaving naked tree trunks
Dead dry
senseless
sexless headstones
where future children of trees
would otherwise have grown moist fruit,
divinely dressed.