They came to me and asked me to help with their tower.
I saw it there,
bitter basalt rooted in the blasted sands surmounting the ruins of Babylon,
twisted trunk lifting up into a claw of branches aimed at the sky to tear down the throne of heaven,
glorious in gold and glistening with runnels of red blood and sharp gray steel,
war and wealth and wonders depicted in every inch of architecture.
“Soon,” they said, “we shall have it all. Just a little higher and we will have our way back in. Put your hand to the work and you can have part of it.”
“No thank you,” I said,
and looked up at the great green branches reaching down from the tree rooted in the sky,
fruiting tips gently tracing His love in the sands of Earth’s desolation.
“I already have my part, and need no other.”