A gravestone lasts longer than a god.
Therefore empires crumble like vampires
in the sun. And when the men of science
uncover the essence of the universe like a stone’s
private parts, the essence is not made of itself
but of pure transience—light as a dustmote floating
in a bead of sweat that drops from the strongman’s brow:
the last strongman, trembling with ungiven
orders, his armies routed, his cities burning,
who works the unconquered earth with his toe
and nods acceptance of the terms of peace.