BY CALEB COY

All that remains of the city will be

The rusted shafts of beamwork

Dressed in upgrown vines

Slanting defunct round a crater rim

Where fungus blankets, emerging rare phylum.

A dog will pass through among the ribs

Paw out a space in the colonies of clover

And nettles and squat and scan his environ.

He will hear a soot-coated raven call.

See it soar over the potsherds of concrete.

The dog will then lift his rump and rise

And not look back at the ground.

Clamorous hexapods will congregate

A civilization upon the bereft scat

The dog will lick hind end and trot

In the direction of the raven.

Caleb Coy is a freelance writer and editor living in Christiansburg, VA with his wife and two sons. He received his M.A. in English and M.A. in Education from Virginia Tech. His work has been published in Harpur Palate, The Common, and Flyway. He is the author of the 2015 novel, An Authentic Derivative.