inklingfair It is five billion years into the future.
Evolution is a lie. Everything is the same, but dirtier.
The world spins on as before.
Say the sun folds inward instead of out, a soft red orb eaten slowly
from the core, a reverse nuclear birth.
Beneath the cooling leaves and loam burrow small troubled creatures,
mute and blind, hearts slowing in unscheduled sleep.
The city hums on hoarded fuel, a sea of cool white lights twinkling
defiant in the blood-red dusk.
You and I stand in a pool of fluorescent light. You cup my face with hands warm and naked against my second skin.
It is five billion years into the future. The world spins on as before.
The air is poisonous, the nebulae beautiful. The sun is reborn in another galaxy.
You and I are alive.
