Keep your truths like Easter eggs,
sins just under the choppy surface,
skewed, blurred, unknown,
a mystery for others to gossip on.
Appear pure and pious until day declines
and dark drinks day’s disillusion, 
leaving truth as scarps, old cliff walls 
built up as a river dug, revealed
in layers the history of the earth.
Man walks a single layer.
One hair on the grizzled head of time.
Our bones yearn to lie down
in the human layer, to perhaps fuel 
some other future with oil to burn
in their industries.

All feel gravity’s feet on their shoulders, 
back and knees, but mostly
in the mind and heart,
flattened, urged to collapse and fall beneath
unending pushing until we are a layer,
for oceans to erode.
And rivers to reveal.