On the last day before the last day of the world
the leaves were green
and a breeze stirred the sunlit shadows.
A single brown leaf dropped
from somewhere high
only to stop
midair
dangling,
glistening as it turned, catching
the light and the shade.
It hung there as if a sign
that the first thing to go
would be gravity,
until I realized
it must be caught in a web
now broken.
On the last day before
the last day of the world
a spider rested; its work finally done.
Yet even now it descends,
gathering broken strands,
to begin again.
