Tears do not dry but
dry tears come anyway.

My kind was born last, as far as I can tell,
yet lives in amnesiac domination.

Insisting the human is creation's finest, 
entitled.

But last night the elephant returned in my dream
bearing hacked off tusks and limbs.

They laid the tusks on my desk where I write 
while listening to, among others, exquisite piano music.

Ebony and ivory have aesthetic harmony
that pleases the human eye and ear.

But what of the elephant and the tree
whose lives we humans took?

What do I say to the elephant tonight?
How do I look them in the eye?

How do I tell a lie to those long of memory?
Elephants, stewards of the Earth.
 
How do I tell a lie to the Tree whose breath,
makes my consciousness possible?

Tears do not dry but
dry tears come anyway for

the Elephant and the Tree,
Ancestors of the long memory on Earth.