THE END OF THE WORLD
Tonight the few among us who still believe
in local weathermen have come out to see what was said
to be the last meteorite shower of the year.
Our spines grew blue from the cold and our talk
turned to disasters about the end of the world,
a mere seasonal taste brought on by movies.
The mechanics of destruction were simple,
somewhere in space lurked global killers,
whose self-extraction from asteroid belts was as certain
As their sinister intercept drift into earth's orbit
as was the case of a huge meteor that passed between us and our moon.
It took days for astronomers to find out and confirm the near collision.
In that dark heavy with apocalypse and signs
someone called out your name with that rare grace
of a tongue that has never grown used to saying it aloud.
So that you were conjured there so completely by grace
my mouth was filled with the sudden names of stars
as must have been those of the first men who looked up
At the ancient sky and saw comets, meteors and foretold
the end of their world. Yet when the hour of destruction
did not come, had to kill themselves for honor's sake.
The first falling stars appeared, hurtling into
their terrible survival rate, our heads imagining illumination,
thankful that not one of them will make it to earth tonight.
And yet your name released from a tongue other than mine
rang on into the clear sky, piercing the atmosphere of my body,
of what could've been the last night of the world as I knew it.
Your name reeled and burned through terrestial tissue
into my center of gravity, a heart recovering its desire,
Foretelling the guarantee of my missing you for the rest of the year.