The impact of a small raindrop
on the mirrored face of the lake
makes tiny rings, a silent plop,
with wavelets fleeting in their wake.
Was it similar to the rock
that struck the earth, that asteroid
which the ancient gods watched, their talk
calm as ancient life was destroyed?
Perhaps the great gods did not care
about rings so small in their eyes
that they did not see the lives there
burnt and buried, or dead elsewise.
How will they look on the event
that will destroy the human race?
Will it appear as how it went
when the K-T event took place?
Will we pollute our lands and seas
like yeast feeding on corn and rye,
distilling poison like whiskeys
to succeed so well that we die?
Perhaps the end will come to pass
like faintly flaring warhead fire,
a will o’ the wisp of swamp gas
making of us a firefly pyre.
Whatever end awaits us then,
their eyes will pass over our death
as mine do now—so peaceful, zen,
as billions die between each breath.

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