If some great cataclysm happened, created by humans or less likely not, what would survive and what would be our feelings in contemplating such an end and beginning? This poem depicts the ending of a period of constant night after such a cataclysm which has wiped out humans but not all life.
After a month of night, a reddish moon
Illuminates a new world, smoothes
The slivers of metal, softens the swathes
Of jagged concrete to
A pebble beach. The clumps of bodies become
A silvered sleeping army of dancing elves.
Nothing human moves,
But deep rats scrabble towards the surface
In the wounded rivers
Dragonfly larvae wait, and where the great trees stood
Fern spores survive. There will be
Tomorrow the relentless sun will rise.