September 11

Two, written in the days after the attack.  More stunned than anything else at that point. My head could only wrap itself around the details, I couldn't even begin to write about the real human tragedy.  

The autumn horizon smoulders

in amber, umber, ochre- 

a pale, guilded echo

of the flames that devour

the soul of a nation.

How fragile are man's things.

Behemoths become matchsticks

in amber, umber, ochre;

and ashes rain down on our heads and our hearts - 

descending to darkness.

Wafting embers ignite this torch

(amber, umber, ochre).

The sun silent, surpassed

quelled by the spark 

of a sudden autumn flame.  

In the days after the attack, they stopped all flights over the US (for about a week, I think).  And it occurred to me that was the only time I had ever seen (or would probably ever see again) the sky overhead completely free of aircraft...

The last stanza is a reference to the digging for survivors in the wreckage of the Twin Towers; they would later realize that there were no survivors to be rescued.  

Silent Sky

For three days now

there has been nothing

but silent blue sky.

For three days.

Lofty white clouds

scurry by

to collect in their 

far-off meeting place.

Impervious

to the absence of 

their Father's sons' creatures.

Returned by us,

in a moment's violence,

ten million years of peace

in silent untouched blue;

no man-made scratches

to swell and stain

the heaven's hue.

No grids carved into sky - 

we, returned to earth

heavy and flightless.

Reminded again

of the hatchlings we are

helpless and sightless

and mortal, unlike

the perfect blue sky

at peace with its own.

Heaven above us -

we dig at the dirt

and stare at the stone.