Poem

Lahar

Oh, it comes on fast, faster
than a downhill sprint,
and tall – taller than you
that wall of earth and water,
a river of slip, of cement,
carrying boulders, trees –
glacial, except for the speed
and heat bearing grindingly down,
the moan it rips from earth with its rush. 
Oh, it comes on fast, faster
than you.  Without warning –
days’ rain building,
or a lake suddenly draining,
or one snakes free from a volcano,
and not humans nor foxes,
nor anything which trods
the earth, swims in ponds,
grows, rooted, might stand,
withstand, run in front of,
leap above.  It comes on fast,
ash-colored, flash boil,
tarmac howl – blink and it’s
around you, breathe and it’s
drowned you: you – a hollow
inside it, a bubble of something
to pocket away to nothing
as it slows and stops and locks
into the new earth, blocking
rivers, filling valleys, fast, oh,
fast, fast, and unsuspecting you.