Naked at last,
I stand on the savannah.
The sun carries away the final day
as the flat acacia supports twilight.
The others have gone
into a long night of a thousand years—perhaps forever.
Over at last is the millennia.
Crickets smooth the grass with songs—
the last words or the first.
I do not know which.
I raise my arms to become
the mountain in some new creation.
Eve steps lightly from behind
the tree in the middle of the plain.
This time she will not charm
or listen to the twisted vine.