The plates awoke today
Deep below Elysian fields
They battle grind and seismic yields explode
And seethe and shake the earth
A deafening
Ten million trampling hooves beneath us
Where wrinkled streets upheave and hiss, split-wounded
Here vintage brick lay ruined swayed
Fury egregious
And twisting houses crack and wheeze
Which one is yours?
Loosened abruptly, the massive foundation liquidly slides out from the rooting under town
And tugs lares and penates to the swallowing pit-mouth and eager belly of the bay where they drown
Which are yours?
Possessor, which things are yours?
A sea colossus, a towering crestless wall now howls

Inhales and reverses the tide, and lifts high his brow in launch
Feared harbor wave
Black shadow lays where men still brave the dock
So near the crushing ocean rage
Timber spearks fly like splintered wind-blown needle seeds
The men on dock disperse like salt thrown
And disappear, in half-drown or sudden slaughter
Riding with debris, ripping through the streets entombed in tearing murky claws
Claws!
As ripples calm assorted bloated corpses breach
Possessor, which one is yours?
How dirtied your eyes
Sunken stare
Gloss eye dread
Now sleep in fields Elysian
Calm now, dead