Afterward

“The water shimmers with imaginary fish.
Not far from here lie the bones of conifers
washed from the sea and piled by wind.
Some mornings I walk upon them,
bone to bone…”

Imagine a sea without fish,

brooks without frogs or

toads in the woodpile,

bleached tree limbs

 piled up like matchsticks,

the silence of dawn –

(dead birds don’t sing).

Rachel Carson’s plea

fell on deaf ears.

Now waves of isolation

crash against stony shores.

There’s no one left

to mourn.

The Green Goddess

Is gone.

4 thoughts on “Afterward

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