If the end of the world came,
I would want it to be on a day like this.
Imagine watching everyone glow in the thin setting sun,
turning them sacred. The yellow light, cast over everything,
would feel like the last of something, like leaving,
would leave everyone feeling happy
without knowing why. Then it would sap itself out of our walls,
would remove its halos from our heads,
and the moon would step up to the sky.
The cold on our cheeks would start to burn.
First, the Christmas lights would blink off,
then the streetlights and buildings, then the heat.
Engines would clamp shut from the cold.
None of this would make a sound.
You see, if the end of the world came,
I would want it to be on a day like this:
the golden sun, the empty square.
It already looks like heaven here.
A Study of Urban Botany
In England, you see a lot of flowers that bloom in the rain:
pointed petals arch downward, bouncing above the two-legged stems
that glide beneath them.
Their roots are restless and tread earth quickly,
sending neural signals to shrink the petals
back into the bud from where they began.
I've seen one of these buds dangle from a girl’s wrist,
it was pink and delicate, hanging upside down.
In full bloom the flowers tower over us, their webbed metal fingers
outstretched like the bones of a bat,
keeping us between the water that nourishes them
and the sidewalk they float above.