Sirens ripped open
The warm silk of sleep
We ricocheted to the shelter
Moalted by streets
That ran with darkness.
People said it was a storm,
But flak
Had not the right sound
For rain;
Thunder left such huge craters
Of silence,
We knew this was no giant
playing bowls.
And later,
When I saw the jars of glass,
Where once had hung My window spun with stars;
It seemed the clear sky
Lay broken on the floor.
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