Here’s to the rubble: starlight starts to grow quietly.

The world comes to chaos so quietly.


Gravity promised to give up for a minute

if we told it the things we know, quietly,


so we let foggy breath bleed into cold air

and excuses ring frantic, though quietly.


Today, a river we’ve grown to love coughed up a corpse,

and the current refused to flow quietly.


Over our shoulders, the sunset slips lower,

like a ship sinking in the flow, quietly


waiting for someone to see the lights flashing

and scramble with rope in tow, quietly.


Under lava and quicksand the ground lost its footing,

angry angels lurked just below, quietly.


This morning the satellite ran away with the moon.

They had planned the move years ago, quietly.


The earth once asked if it could throw in the towel:

we decided to let it go quietly.