Song of The Post ICE Age 

Earthquaking had become 

our neighborhood’s norm, no that’s untrue—more like our nation’s—no one predicted where or how bad would the tumults of earth roiling erupt under soil, beneath our tingling feet, a neighbor’s home. Mayhem’s hungry jaws had ground down peaceful days and dream laden nights as parents forgot to feed pets, even some children who’d been stolen by government’s zealots. Placing ourselves into forest and park, into bright hallways of laughter, purchasing tacos from a food truck 

were now illegal acts. When our eyes became fixed on aluminosilicate glass

instead of breathing each other, 

weakened bodies abandoned our lives

leaving images and unfleshed sounds

to innervate digital tissue, encapsulated organs like hearts marooned beyond feeling.  

Our humanity captured almost completely

by forces slick, false yet impactful.  

Hard to calibrate on scale called Richter

how intense these earthquakes could be rated. A shuddering quake pervaded every leaf, every cloudbank, every kidney and liver, every foot, grimace and daydream, every boy and pigtailed girl, nobody here, nothing we desire was safe in the land anymore.

Yet as we squirmed with unease, we breathed deep then mustered somehow 

the power to step forth from claustrophobic slumber and move forth towards blue sky into green earth, now seeing more clearly each other, a promise arises of eyes shining with unshaken kindness across different languages; the land starts to calm within quiet, our ears perk up and grin broadly as these from farmland, mountain, desert and city sing respect, speak for all creatures

now inhaling angels of safety, breathing out

rivers of thanks.