Two women walked their dogs

past the house this morning.

Had they looked my way, they

wouldn’t have seen what was actually going on.

They’d have only seen appearances, someone

sitting in front of a large window with mouth slightly open

wearing a stupid, pinched, far-away look,

staring over their heads at tall, green trees

and the brilliant blue of a morning sky

after cleansing, sweet rain.

He was really just a scout, a rambler,

teleported 500 generations in the future,

staring into a potential abyss

imagining what a particular morning in

ten millennia might look like,

where there were no women, or dogs, or trees,

or blue skies…or sweet rain,

or bird calls,

because something vast and terrible

had passed over the face of the world

like the avenging angels swept over

Pharaoh’s first-born sons,

but infinitely worse,

cutting down all but one of

every hundred, then

all but one of every hundred

who remained.

All but a few small creatures

who took refuge in deep sea caverns

were no more.

If the dog walkers had looked, they’d have seen someone

with a somewhat stupid, pinched, far-away look,

like a stroke victim, paralyzed, sad,

under a brilliant blue morning sky,

shuffling in ashes of a possible future,

and wondering, as the Earth slowly healed, again,

what would her genius create this time.