how to herald the new earth

if the world should end
it would end on a friday afternoon.

i can taste the finality of daylight
like copper coins discovered in a

forgotten purse. the metallic notes
introducing itself individually to

all the pores of my skin. it is
not the wind caged in the chain

of leaves. i have traced the vectors
to their heads. it is a door stopper

between the teeth of the horizon and
the forgetful orange. i can smell

the song of the morning birds baked
along the crust of the clouds. if i

had known better i would have licked
the honey from the comb. but the bees

have made a juice from earth. i have
always pride myself as all-natural.

i dance with them until we spend
the sun. glowing. light. holy.

fleeting daze