Barbara Crooker, Pennsylvania
The angels are rebelling, descending
from on high, with flashing swords
and terrible wings. Their gaze
is pitiless, as they fall from the broken
sky. There is no sanctuary, not even
in cathedrals among the effigies
and tombs. Gaia has sounded the alarm,
hammering, hammering on her golden bells.
The fields are on fire. The pale horse and rider
traverse the land. In iron and ink,
the final story is about to be written,
as the last of the glaciers slips into
the sea. The bells are ringing.
First published as “Global Warning” at Poetz.com, 2008. Copyright © 2008 Barbara Crooker