After the storm
is a quiet
when the clouds scud together
and the moon peeks from
behind
to view the damage
the battlefield
is scouted
for the groans of survivors.
A melancholy calm
envelopes
all
to which a blazing dawn
might be called
a desecration
thro' which the
voice of a
songbird
may shatter
like machine gun fire
A heavy hanging calm
which can be felt and touched
and tasted
in the salt of sweat, blood and tears.
June 27,1990
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem