One last morning under the pergola we discussed what had happened in the godhead's crucible, but the berries distracted us, we lost the thread, you touched my hand, and we were smoke.
Monday, July 20, 2009
It was never natural, not cosmic rays unspooling, epic failure of photosynthesis. The lovers were fuse and timer, thrusting seconds home.
It was natural. Rivers divorced seas under the aegis of ending, tectonic plates shattered against apartment walls, all evolving closure.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
It was not human. The bridges into the city were empty at midnight, the trains were silenced, bars dark: one great godflash, and lights out.
It was human. A double knot in the double helix hardwired them not to fate but inevitable accident: one molecule awry, everything collapses.
It was no one's. A destroying wave passed through Being, positron to pulsar, invisible, unknown to them as they removed each other's skin.