Earth

Forgive me if I feel a little shaky.
In 7.59 billion years, the sun
will drag me from my orbit, turn me

to cinder for all time. What consolation,
what infinity to buttress
the cruel measure of a human life,

a mere threescore and ten, all that
clinging to the gospel of the flowers,
the sun never going down.

Oh, amplitude of tides. Oh, fists
of rubies and diamonds, the Catskills,
Grand Canyon, amaranth, oak,

the greening of copper, the Big Bang,
plate shifts, the Ice Age, that clown.
I'll do my best to slip through the slot

of climate. After that, it's beyond
my control. I could start to feel
sorry for myself in a few million years—

I am to be spun sugar, the universe
untethered. When all the Time
I thought I was for keeps.

Copyright © 2008 Wendy Drexler All rights reserved
from Off the Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission