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The earth is still today.

Trees rise to the grey sky
high branches,
thin stems, etched
to stasis of
a photograph.

Be glad,
for motion can kill
when deep plates grind
shocking
ocean, city, coastal plain
‘til tsunami clears away
cars and trucks, homes cascading
like driftwood in swollen springs
rushing from the heaving sea
to a more fundamental deep,

where at last silence
arrests crushed chests,
and pain ceases
beneath the liquid earth.

For no cry can pierce
the stillness
of a ruptured world.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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