The Modesto Swat Team Waits In Violent Weather Poem by Steven Federle

Violence is essentially wordless, and it can begin only where thought and rational communication have broken down. Thomas Merton

unquiet night
sky rushing
past peace
past even
the thrill
of anger

howling clouds
slowly twist
to darker thoughts
and drop
mute ice
on lavender fields
on lilies, white and life-
less.

In Whispering Woods
his mind snaps.
He fires off rounds
of death,
and, wordless, waits
for the ice.