EARTHQUAKE 62 A.D.
The first time we were happy.
Children, really; winter birds
took refuge in the ilex.
There were signs: my mother’s garden
Memory of a waterlogged moon, of
body stringent in metallic dark.
Don’t pretend there weren’t.
Berries soft-skinned on the dirt;
there were signs:
Memory of rebuilding.
Labor of rebuilding.
The body’s loneliness.
To think, the earth is sleeping.
The violets wild in their fields.