At the edge of creeping baptism,
where briny water licks clean the sin from boulevard and street,
you and I will watch the monuments and alleys submerge
and shorelines we walk
shift quietly beneath the waves.
We will drown ourselves by degrees
with fahrenheit and celsius ascending
and drip, drip, drip, dripping,
the glaciers disappear.
“Too many island anyway,” you’ll tell me
as the news will speak of another nation conquered by fish
and another heat wave will kill another hundred thousand
and shortages, shortages, shortages, shortages will be our only glut
as we watch the smoldering of the world
from the safety of our fifth refugee camp.