-Written on Rapture day, the last day of the world, May 21, 2011

The fact of love,
dot, dot, dot—
is not love

laughter over the telephone
factoids of connection—

there is no taking back
not love

my news is
of empty spaces—

each word a dropped blossom,
a sacrifice to the wind
of activity—

my shears sing
over the small mountain
of pink blossoms
accumulating
on my lap—

my phone is irretrievably
off the hook—
like the petals of this poem.