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At the very end of time,
as all that had been matter
and all that was perceived as light
prepared, each in its own way, to end,

Creator scanned the ancient clutter—
shards of broken plate glass strewn in ancient corners,
brickwork fallen,
rust corroding rusted metal fragments,
sofas, armchairs, and beds reduced to moldy tufts—

when, to Creator’s vast surprise,
sitting regally upon a pitted slab of concrete,
sat a teacup of bone china, translucent,
hand-painted and gilded on its rim.
It was perfectly intact.

1996

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