Death Against Pup-tent

It would be the most final,
Violent thing to happen
To Earth, if the sun—

Vast, continuous
Apocalypse—went
Rogue re predictions

And engulfed the Earth,
But some lives would end
Little differently.

Comparison’s all
Or almost, human
Minds do, as close

To continuous
As human minds get,
And yet, at the core

Of experience
Comparison fails—
On the one side, death,

Universal and
Inescapable,
Akin to nothing,

While on the other—
Details, memorized,
Imagined, unique

In every lifespan,
The time you camped out
In your new pup-tent,

Your birthday present,
Aged seven, set up
In grandma’s backyard

On grandma’s small farm,
The sopping wet grass
From late-summer dew

Soaking the tent’s sides,
The spider’s shadow
In dawn silhouette

On the tent’s canvas,
The bell on a goat,
The smell of old hay.