Vanishing Interior

Little patches of grass disappear In the jaws of lusty squirrels Who slip into the spruce. Cars collapse into parts. Spring dissolves into summer, The kitten into the cat. A tray of drinks departs from the buffet And voilà! the party’s over. All that’s left are some pickles And a sprig of wilting parsley on the rug. When I think of all those Gong-tormented Mesozoic seas I feel a ripple of extinction And blow a smoke ring through the trees. Soon there will be nothing left here but sky. When I think about the fact I am not thinking about you It is a new way of thinking about you.