Time erected as if it could
be built forever –
know it as a lie, the finger
etched into the stone a sideshow
nothing will last forever.

Written words sold, sacred contract
as each device lasted
longer than the precursor – a diaspora
of peoples cross the blocks
and girders of progress.

When then did it get turned
on its head – built for mayflies instead?
What finger, what wall,
a new temple made from sand
that tumbled faster than years could build?

Three hours not three decades
a mire of broken goods loll –
plastic islands in the ocean, oil products
for hermit crabs and newly formed rocks
build blocks of decay.

Children focus elsewhere
as hands, turned wrinkled,
how strong they grip the bed – the aged
know how to hold – the young
look elsewhere.

Is it then
the construction of a desert, gods
destined to turn away, the hand withdrawn
a finger no longer exists to write
prophesy upon the wall?