This is from a series of poems I’m working on about Earth speaking to us in view of our mistakes.

Nothing before

if you can imagine

nothing.

Nothing after.

In between,

you.

And

this.

All that is.

Me

the furnace within

tough crust

no edge.

Whichever point of roundness

is where

here meets

the end of our world.

Everywhere a meeting point.

Inside,

life you can’t know

or guess at.

Spoken language of roots

the worm’s breathing space

insects’s ballrooms and citadels.

Down in their darkness

none has the shadow of a doubt

whereas you

in broad daylight

produce beliefs and betrayals.

Stuttering faith

hopeless hopes

you could have chosen just to be.

Before we part

I would like you to know

that nothing is lost.

Nothing before, nothing after:

in between we just dreamt 

of one another.

Pascale Quiviger