End Times

i am not ready for
a light-filled forest

still half aflame
i struggle to recognize it

with thinning hair
comes the chill of loss

i finger a nickel
that slaveowner’s face

riding in my pocket
like i’m lewis and clark

under red and scarlet oaks
the music of falling acorns

tick-tocking but only
at random moments

i clock in at several
caught breaths an hour

a forest can turn to coal
in the fullness of time

and those who believe in hell
can dig it up and burn it

with faith all things
acquire an airbrushed glow

but when mountains move
there’s a detachment fault

beneath which other rocks
go their own way

i sit watching
the treetops glow

in sun that they can
no longer taste

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.