Journal of Writing & Environment




The evening the long-tailed comet came

to wipe out the ancient forms of life

was an evening much like this one.


Warm air hung dense as honey in the comb.

White night flowers clung to the spiraled vines.

The scaly things nestled close together.


The cry of cicadas swung like a lasso

gripping everything in one tight loop of sound

but then the crash—dust, dust everywhere.