It was our last day
towards extinction.
The very last day
when we were us.

But I'll retrieve the landscape
pixel by pixel
until the cicadas cry in hot evenings,
until the light streams over
lavender fields.
Until the green canyon water
hits my retina
beyond the bend of
the mountain road.

Until our last trek
over the hills, the moor,
the white pebbles, the sheep,
our last meal in
the pine forest, the sudden wind,
shall fade,
and from my open hand
the memory of all our years
shall fly from the cliffs.