by Kerry Seymour
Our blue marble floats,
perfect
from a distance.
Here, mined and fracked,
aquifers sucked dry,
she quakes
and sinkholes gape;
Continents bake,
yet the coasts drown
in warming waters.
In millennia to come,
our drying orb
of desperate remainders
smolders, beyond thirst.
This was our only blue marble.
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