Conventions melt, assumptions fall away,
The rules that governed once no longer hold.
I watch as all collapses, all decays,
And search the rubble for a fleck of gold.
The sand! It shifts beneath my wobbly feet
Where once I thought upon bedrock I stood.
I shake again from yet another Tweet,
And doubt if my response will do some good.
I bend my knees and sit, reclining now,
Allowing quakes to rock beneath my back.
No roof, but sky! I gasp, and wonder how
I never noticed what I’ve always lacked.
Creation heaves, and composts former things,
While here below I see first signs of spring.