Wood Oil Coal

Maybe they’ll all run out.
Maybe more will be found.
Maybe you’ll find out how

Much warmth and misery,
Success and cruelty,
Hard deaths and victories,

You’ll have left without them.
Maybe there’ll be no end
To burning the carbon—

A diminution, just
Enough to not burn up
All to ashes and dust.

Camping in what remains
Of woods after the flames,
Your solar lantern placed

On a stone in the sun,
Watch molded lithium
Begin another chron.