Can we imagine such emptiness? Such quiet.
Every bit of us, gone: the jackal-mouthed
and gospel-wild, razor wire
keeping out the needful
of our kind, even the ruins of holy cities,
flattened by viral belief.
We have no proof of our own
definitive end.
No name for the never-seen,
for the tangle of worms and beetles
thriving on us,
no name
for whatever creature
comes next: but let them be
thoughtless,
cleaned of reason, dumb
as water,
only a trace of us
left inside them
and above them
and everywhere they look.
first published in RockPaperPoem and was runner-up for their poetry prize
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