reset

the world
like the day
is dying

we fear
the fall of night
the clutching dark

but it is only us
still scattered
on scraps of earth

who see the sunset
as a bleeding wound
that we have made

the world will die
on a midnight
of its own

and wait for dawn
to break its heart
and start again

if human bones
are crumbs
among the sand

human error
put them there
for the tides to wash

© BH, 2026

---

I wrote this as a quick response to a poem, ‘Spoil’, posted on FB by poet Hugh MacMillan. Hugh explored nature’s powerful beauty against the fragility of the world we have made. This is a kind of counterpoint. I actually described it as ‘a kind of grim resignation’. I got a thumbs-up from Hugh.

In the later edit, I did very little, except expand the final lines into a separate short poem, ‘in the end’.