Fukushima Poem by Steven Federle
Fukushima
Twisted steel, writhing iron
grasping girders
bones of failure
but power
still fills
the empty spaces.
Before, it coursed through
thin ribbons, through high wires
tense in the fog.
But now, deep within the devastation
efficient atoms hum in
hot expectation
as delicate clouds
drift
toward the desperate city.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: city,fog
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8/28/2026 8:04:05 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
