Then.

Then.

Then the earth went quiet.

No creature called.

No background hum.

No crickets, cicadas, frogs.

Birds gasped, opened their beaks,

held out their wings to cool,

then fell to the ground.

Then water took low atolls,

covered dunes,

inched up river valleys,

covered abandoned houses

and twisted war machines,

lapped tall towers

still standing like strange sentinels

in the orange tinted tide.

Then, on the far horizon,

the sun flamed dirty smudge,

lit the mountains 

and the haggard faces

of the survivors

moving higher and higher

over the pock-marked land.

Then suddenly it dipped

into impenetrable black.

No silver pepper of stars.

No moon, though the ocean

still ebbed and flowed.

Then only darkness

covered the face 

of the mighty deep.

Published in Autumn Sky Daily.