Big Wind Chime

I couldn’t help but imagine the future of the world
as I studied the stone;
how language had grown,
its story marred by a slow and steady drift
of nature and time.
I imagined the remains of us,
the next big die out.
Like mammoths left
fuel to flow the earth,
we'll leave our shelters from the weather;
as confusions hibernate in dust,
on tables of rust, dimly lit screens flickering through webs
and vines--
our songs, passing through chimes,
in orchards, rain micro chips and petals.
As the nectar of technology still moves through filaments,
for the newly emerging,
the world comes with instructions-
blueprints blowing in the afternoon breeze,
and our memory,
escaping the wind that drags our dust through steel beams.
And safety vaults will hide away in homes
like treasures,
filled with recoveries, reprieves
and un-confided love.
We called it faith-
but bound in ink, flapping in the wind,
Its fragile pages.