“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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s