In my dream last night someone
had punched the red button at last.
I don’t know who it was that did it
in the end. Was it us? Was it them?

I only know a handful of people on this
planet, most of them kind.
I only know pigeon and dove are two words
for the same winged creature.

At the window in our high-rise apartment
we saw it coming.
(What would you do if you had only
thirty seconds to live? This is a question

I have never been asked, never spent
any time thinking of.)
All around us the buildings were going down
with the people still in them.

They had not yet said what they needed to
say, or done what they promised.
The children would never again be told stop  
slipping shells of sliced bread

to the birds in the park. Bye bye birds.
Bye bye bread. I always enjoyed
the warm mushroom smell you made
and the oven door banging. I also liked

butter, black tea, and Vivaldi, and how
do you say your I love yous
when the world has run out of agains?
On the carpet where we clung to each other

with no time left, I looked at your hands and
they were two full cups.
Your eyes were full of wings. There was
enough—