I was looking for you in the garden

The shadows under the trees perforated night skies

I found it hard to see in the glare

The only response to a call was the rustle of leaves, birdsong

Your name diffusing through the undulations in the air

The kitchen doors were open, I checked the fridge before continuing

Skipping stairs was a stretch but still a habit

Years later, a couple lanes away from where we lived

I watched an asteroid break up on entry

Bright limbs streaking across a black sky, what were the chances?

Miracles unfolding overhead, drinking in the park

I could never explain the pit in my stomach

Frantic, nervous pacing through the house

If we act like things are not spiraling out of hand, does that make them so?

If a thought goes unspoken, does that erase it?

The unbroached belief when my friend died decades later

That subconscious echoes carried him through me

But it never rears its head when it can be reasoned with

The world ends on a quiet weekend

Not through diagnoses, emergencies, collapses

Although I hate thinking that memories bend

Cars are still parked outside

If the rapture had happened, why was it unrecognizable?

Why is the sky blue? Why did no one tell me?

Did these things not announce themselves?

And when I found you, you told me to wash my hands, I had been playing outside

And spoke nothing of the end of the world

Does that mean it never happened?