After the apocalypse, we drove through the night 
to the edges of Acadia. Sat in the car as acorns  

rained down, as the wind shivered around us.  
As the ancient cities of deer and vole, of field mouse 

and foxglove sat patient around the car. And when 
the light came, first as tender blades  

then as a full-blown spotlight, we danced  
before anyone could see. We took off our boots 

and scarves, our jackets and socks, shirts  
and underwear. Dove down into the September froth,  

felt the salt in our hair and on our tongues.  
Felt the sun grow like fiddleheads  

on our spines. This new year so luminous,  
so relentless with you. I am done being dead.