The overpowering green of these last summers.
Slender birches glinting like faggots of desire.
Women bore children upon children without knowing why.
No hands could wither. The sea stilled.
The lakes sang. Ditches snorted with meadow-sweet.

The roads shone white, but not with terror.
White with their dreams.
Along the fields blue forget-me-nots.

But no one would remember us. We were the last.