No clear air of promise
nor snow-swept earth
but an absent sun, angry moon
with red-ringed omen,
swallowed stars in lightless clouds
drear limp bushes, soggy earth.
The prophesy of no more floods
did not preclude fire,
but still the people slip land-lost
beneath new rivers, while fires
flint-sparked by ravage of drought
burn the once-comfort of loved verges.
The world once trusted to us recoils.
No god or prophet can console
the once-proud owners of the planet.
This year we may re-write
the fading former stone inscriptions,
with a new prescription
or a truer prophesy of obliteration.
Katherine L. Gordon
Last day of 2015.