(no subject)

When the cities join up and drink the seas and their elevators riddle the earth and the last warmth of the core is spent lighting them.

And the cities for efficiency start shrinking and standardizing every sort of service and of home until all are cells and the patternings of cells for efficiency become a species of species and the several species clash and blur and spread and change and clamber over one another till the moon's absorbed.

And the cities needing to be cities elsewhere start to fly away as though in mutual repulsion or as though the earth had been a dropping crystal globe for all those years and now had hit at last a floor of glass or as though a too cold breeze on a sunny Saturday had made a dying dandelion sneeze its seeds away.

And the cities leaving last take away the last bits of anything as souvenirs or fuel or ballast or from avarice or spite.

And the cities are all gone and the whole world with them and the moon and just the points where it all might have been remain flying out past the end of the path of the points where it had.

I'll leave your jacket and thermos there and I'll meet you after.

I know you'll wait.