Co[s]mic Sonnet

We do not live in expectation that the sky will fall

But fear the oceans will rise up, break their bonds,

And surge across the sand; that volcanic rivers roll

In deathly red upon our cities, then slowly crawl

To a rigid stop; and that tremendous rocks

Will shatter our protracted lives, and throw

Out of kilter everything drawn upon the maps.

Temperatures rise and sacred sediments collapse.

Outrageous growths appear inside out souls

And nothing more coheres except the scars

That form on lesions, like grassy knolls

Where we imagine murders and the lapse

Of all morality, wild tracing on the stars,

Still floats above, lingers forever, then snaps.