Perhaps this is the way
Our world will end: not
In biblical flood, or burning
Apocalypse, but in deep beauty:

Silken white soil, brightened dusk,
All softened, houses, roofs, trees:
Magical kingdoms, greeting-card worlds
Asleep at our world’s window.

And this is death, in its deep white beauty:
Falling within us, falling forever,
Over the heart’s granaries, stored
Against hardship, an always future,

Unused. So many grains, so many
Urgings of love, each alive in
Uniqueness, waiting, always
Waiting for perfect moments

Which smile and are gone. White
Crystals will cover us, and the god
We stored, against pain and loss:
Deep white beauty, absolute.