The Last Gods

by Maya Little

Draw a graph
Along the lines of sea
and upwards sky.

Your lines are the only
stable things in these two
shifting reflections.

Yesterday, the sea gaped upwards
to swallow the haze of horizon,
Swelling as ice and inland stream
succumbed to its slow pull.

Tomorrow, the sky may stamp
the sea back to stillness, but
for now the water’s winning, rising, climbing,
devouring the airless sky.

The sky chokes on thin,
tactile grit, sides of the throat
scraped open to bleed toxicity
and a new, hard, heat.

In frantic battle, the sea takes on
oil spill soldiers, the sky recruits CO2
and they blacken, falling desperately
into one another.