A seashell
cracked spontaneously,
a stone rotted apart
all at once.

Then, whole mountains
began to slip
and trees started to sink
into their roots.

A new music revealed in this decay
was more than percussion;
there were beats and rhythms
of course as everything tumbled

but behind that was a melody,
a minimal rise and fall;
a note, perhaps two,
humming in close harmony.

Those who heard it
had to choose
to flee it with their hands
on their ears

or to stand still
and dance with it
though ruin would surely
engulf them.

Now, all is Aftermath.
Things are still falling
but most of us understand
that failure’s become default.

Some have gone so far 
as to deafen themselves
but a few are learning to sing
or play what’s left

like kids turned loose
in a broken studio full
of broken instruments.
New world, new tunes —

old mantra, rather,
and nothing too original.
It’s more like an unveiled
restoration, or recovery

of an old book of common song.
Shaped note singing. Small
intervals, easy to pick up.
Something inherently ours.