End of Days by Amy McFate Old woman carries a basket of seeds from faded flowers, queens who once held reign with their consort drones, tiny bee kings of the nodding meadow where heaven was imagined. Old man pulls a cart he made from scraps of wood found at the shipwreck site of Theseus on sand the color of crushed stars- the wheels are dreams. Their paths converge upon Makhonjwa Mountain's crest- jagged exposed spine of mother Earth convulsing with the throes of her painful death as quasar tears tumble over Niagra Falls. Old woman pours her seeds into the cart as old man patiently tears it apart and a sea of dark washes up over it all. The end of days is silence.