Before it’s Over

If I tell you something

ribboned and curled

will you bury it?

will you teach it?

how to become?

like a bean plant?

in the summertime?

just under the surface?

but already green?

I have no expectations.

You need not harbour

this grief I’ve given

to myself over and over

just to see what will happen 

once everything is destroyed

and everything is revealed

like the post-apocalyptic flower

of the mind and soul.

What I want 

is a witness

to see the texture 

of the wreckage

and the new petals

and sit with me

while the Holocene 

disappears down 

under the horizon, 

and maybe 

we won’t be 

remembered but 

we will have 

known each other

like so many 

have known 

each other

and maybe that 

will be 

enough.