Sous vide under the August Zion crescent moon's flare
That couldn't care less what mischief we were up to then,
As now, a vacuum. Nature abhors nature and makes
More and more of her, like a bronzed, half-drowned mariner
Dragging weeds and seashells up from the riptide and down
The moonlit, laughing beach. I'm the representative
Of humans being humans, culturing gross nothings.
I will come back here in a hundred years. You will see.