At the end of the world…
We will become not strangers but merely more ourselves;
the silent will be more silent, the loving more loving,
the faithless will not gain faith, even the earth will not
change its face overly; where there was ice, there may be water;
where there was light, fire. We were going to die anyway.
Our last gift to ourselves is not to change too much.
Michalle Gould’s first book of poetry, “Resurrection Party,” was recently published by Silver Birch Press. She lives in Los Angeles, where she works as a librarian.
