Tick…

The bird screaming
In the air high overhead
Slowed, blurred and stopped.

It then hung, frozen in the air.

The inter-crossing, locked mesh
Of fine lines, delicate mess
And general mass
Stopped – for an eternal second;
As the sun, suddenly and
Without warning went out.
The patter of feet and
The chatter of voices that
Surrounds us like a
Comforting blanket dropped
To a low, hushed murmur
As though one were in church –
The Holy Church of the Decimated –
And all the lights went out
As the streets became sacred.
There were none but ourselves,
The stunned congregation.
It was as though everyone had
Decided to play musical statues
But the music had finished
And we were stuck
Suspended in time and place
And in silence.

Shock and sorrow makes ornaments
And shells of us all.

Those of us who could move
Blinked, squinted and dared to breathe,
Fearing the whistling of
Our lungs would impinge on this place.
And though we could move,
We were unable to act.
In the garden of gloom we gathered
Lights of the stars and candles
Around us, around the crater
And we marvelled at what happens
When the sun goes out.

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