One of these long, cold days, when all the leaves
have tumbled from the trees like suicides,
and all that yet remains is what deceives
the predator with stillness; when the tides
are drawn out by the moon, but don't return,
and monstrous creatures pull themselves ashore
to gasp and die, and God grows taciturn
and turns away, ashamed; when nothing more
can warm the blood, and every human breath
is purchased at the cost of suffering,
the Earth lies bleeding on its bed of Death,
and final darkness swallows everything--
no one will care how one man spent his day.
It will not matter what I meant to say.