Blood, smoke, caravan wreckage,
broken spokes and cadavers flecked
with grime and dust. The air stings
my nasal passages and brings back
memories of ancient cities built
under overhanging cliffs.
I wade through sludge and silt,
witness to an inevitable rift,
the inescapable entropy of a
natural disaster. I walk faster,
trying not to look back. I am
a wanderer; I must
move on.
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