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

Another turn.

Tomorrow the relentless sun will rise.


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