Poem for a Landscape at the End of Time

You don’t know the depths made fierce
by fire and water; you don’t hear

the pillars crumble, the great Tortoise of Heaven
and the sounds she makes as she awakens. Not even

emperors, great statesmen, soldiers, movie stars,
moguls, philosophers, judges and lawmen

can forestall the hour— A gong
sounds, and the echo of that song

floods the hollows of its shell. All
drown and tremble, as old tales foretell.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Poem for Display in an Inaccessible Location.

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