Outstretched fingers flew by
in the muddy gloop.
Trees curled back, under strain
of two people, now bound
by a common blackness.
I don't know you, hold my hand.
Many vanishing seas counted
one, two
then wielded a fierce revenge
upon the earth,
knocked it off its perch.
The glass was shook and
dessicated humans floated
a myriad in the little ball.
Bloated they fell to the shore
as the raging floor of the ocean
sucked back a vomit.
Cracked shells, sun-seared
lay upon the settled sand,
crimson-coated,
flung and spun in the flood,
Arms straddled, calling up.
What did you hug
before the ocean pulled
its continental plug?
Wrapped into each other,
this tender horror scalpels
all the more, bodies
blistered and scored.
Babies sleeping, all
peaceful on a drunken shore.
Sonja Broderick
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waterwall/
