Originalmente publicado en Bus Talk Magazine el 22 de Febrero de 2025, aún disponible

I'd die for this land that ain't mine

If I knew my death would be worth it

But the truth is, I'd become a number            — In the headline of an obscure investigation on death activists this week—

And the river or the lake would still be taken

And the forest would still burn to the ground

And the train will still lay it's rail path as planned

And the original settlers would still have to leave.

So I don't move a finger off this phone screen,

Or turn a cardboard box flat to make a sing,

I don't chain myself to an ancient tree,

Or purr sugar into gas filters on passing old cars.

Instead, I lay awake until midnight

And whisper my condolences away,

Hoping, one day when I'm decomposing

The grass and the worms and the fungi

Will clean my good name and take me in as a repay.