from Apocalypse Dreams
The world is green and in flower, delicate but fecund

So green it almost hurts: no deadness anyplace, not a twig

Nor a fallen leaf but the bright greens of later spring

and waving vari-coloured flowerheads. Everywhere is growing,

the ground & the treetrunks have trails of climber’s leaves

twisting their extensions, their ascents. This is life.

We too are bubbling and irrepressible: laughing, shouting.

I am on your shoulders, rollicking, others too are playing,

romping: we are highly happy and we are young. Each one

of us knows that this is doomed, that we and the greengreen world

are dying; that soon, so soon, obliteration. We know

there is poison in the leaves and in our laughter.

That there are only minutes left. Our knowledge is

incommensurable. We are happy.