photo: t. kilgore splakeby Linda Back McKay
When the world does end, it will all return to the breath.
We will all go back to whatever brought us here
in the first place. There will be no lingering by the remains
of a dancing bonfire. No more music, no more hors d’oeuvres.
There will be brief conversation among the terns
and then every sky and lake will go seamless.
There will be no great beyond, no weeds, no people
to conquer, nothing new to learn.
A great curtain will descend, black, of course,
the absence of color. The wind will abate
and a code of silence will be strictly enforced.
No more bouquets of swallowtail butterflies.
No more demonstrations for peace.
There will be no sun settling its ungainly bulk
at world’s edge, spilling gold all over
the upturned face of a mountain.
~ first appeared in “Water ~ Stone”
