Poetry

After the apocalypse, 
the fiefdoms were growing― 
buttercups― with golden flowers, 
cupshaped. 
 
Anemones and hellebores/ 
aconites and clematises/ 
famed for making lethal― 
poisonous seeds. 
 
So much went through us. 
 
A billion years after― there will be 
no life/ on earth. But we 
have become lifeless now― 
the poems incomplete. 
 
It was getting smaller― 
and smaller― the tall man.