Simpler Green

In those days, those far off days,
The wind-pollinators will
Be doing well once again.

The bees will be gone, the bats,
And maybe most of the birds.
The humans swept them with them,

The godlike humans who strode
Across the earth on hind legs,
All prancing and accusing

Each other of various
Murders. Death will still be there,
In carpets of simpler green,

In warm years of algal booms
And seas of spreading duckweed,
Pines soughing in the ruins,

But the gods will be below
The soil, as happens with gods
Who get too complicated.