The World's End

where earth rivers pour out into the void
thought to be at the edges of a flat planet
are here on the unswept streets

these rivers appear to me, and to no one else
to be sweeping the avenues
to be rushing through the alleys
as wilderness canyons

when they swell and pour
over the edge of time
they freeze in the reaches of space

amidst shreds of yesterday's plastic
and the wind whipping of islamic fabric
the playing of children, the swaying of trees
and the thoughtless drone of traffic

it seems that no one else
hears these waters move