Sent on
January 14, 2019
by
Andrew Senior
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Children of mine,

would there could be
world enough wide
enough with room
enough for your stars
to shine as mine

But there is not

That cannot now
be accomplished
ever possibly
never and not
in a hundred
lifetimes to come

The ark that is
humanity
is slipping bow
down to meet
the seas, stern screws
propelling air
rudder rudderless
to steer a course
away from here
the 3000 year
disaster ahead

All will be changed
I mind none of it:
radioactive
oceans, shrinking
lands, neither your
demise nor mine

except for this
that what was fierce
and terrible
a beauty born
of capturing
a cosmos –
itself grand too –
in a cosmos

a capture called
life might also
be lost because
of this of us
who couldn’t do
better than what
a universe
would deliver
to Earth’s doorstep
utterly destroyed

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