If the world ends again
on us i hope it’s raining
on the soundless ripples
of a mountain stream.
I hope the water flows
down the weathered slope
to a village time forgot
where ancient wrinkled hands
that woke in pre-dawn darkness
will rub our backs and sing to us
in long-forgotten languages
(we’ll drift apart in lullabies
lost in socks and sheets).
If the world ends again
on us i won’t go riding
off to war i’ve had my fill
of flame and salted earth.
This time the air-raid sirens
will hold their breath
with me and hope
it’s just the sound
of rain it’s just some
huge and lonely thing
crying giant tears
on the soundless ripples
of a mountain stream.
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