Shantih Journal 3.1 | Page 77

Soviet Fall timothy e.g. bartel November begins with a dream of storm, Of cloud enscarpments in a crowded sky, And rolling gusts of bone-grey dust. The world Would end like that, we guessed: a ring of cloud Expanding from some central flash, then ash. Our cowed imagination’s favorite fear Was thus when that enormous bear could fuss And trouble from the east. The bear is joined By borderless menageries of beasts, And now we doubt how it will end. There is No desk to duck within or window to Avoid. So I will court the apertures And seats beside their light. Since death will come For all, I’ll sit where it is wide and bright. 77