End Of the World (for Ilya Kaminsky)
(for Ilya Kaminsky)
hair fused with mud. Trees iced in sleep
are relieved of urgent sap. Everything needs rest.
When this world ends, need will evaporate
in a blink – gone the cycles of knowing,
going on and not going on, fucking and no
more, gone even the moment when we can smell
the obsolescence of breath. The delight
of apocalypse is that it comes to all in the same
second; daughters will not be orphans, mothers not
childless, the fur of life will merge with frozen
ground, the blossom with its droop. About the end:
we’ll go as one, spared of that gap in mid-air
when we know our plane is going down.
from Mudlark, www.unf.edu/mudlark, September 2010