No glitter in the eyes behind pane of the battered window,
The consternation of my heart breaks a saucer in the kitchen,
My kitten rushes out into courtyard and is electrocuted.
Look at the autumn of our spring,
Changing water of rivers from the music of outpouring, into the craft of fury,
Which brings us down to what we were, when,
Where we are was a sea once,
Fishes, you say,
Struggling to get to the shore on a high tide noon.
From the radio girl at midnight, we hear:
Recreation of what was a catastrophe, and what is,
A catastrophe in making, drawing near, drawing near,
Moon by its touch will turn to ash.
Ponds spilling into orchards will turn blossoms into ruin,
Apples would taste of mud in summer,
In almond shells we will find vermin. Even then,
We won’t abandon our land.
Rain rains over roads, sewage channels clogged burst open,
More water, more anguish,
Where we are was a sea, once, and shall there be a sea forever?
We tie together a boat of barks,
Pulling night over us like a shroud,
On voyage to mountains to our east, archipelagos,
Rowing with the melancholy of what we left back,
The bells at a forsaken church sounding an alarm.
We say we will return,
We will return when the sea will drain back into rivers,
When irises in the flower beds at home will flutter in the summer of our eyes,
We will return then to our paths, and to our only shaken world.
(All images are representational)