Tremors

Elizabeth Schultz

This morning, a quiver vibrates
Through the backyard: a breeze tingles
In the ash leaves, a dragonfly dimples
The bird bath; on the edge of a spider web
A beetle, garroted, sets up a trembling.
On the edge of the land, planes crash,
Buildings collapse, steel melts, dust falls.
My mother awakes, believing she’d heard
Carols tolling through the night.