Broken

In the earthquake
the favorite cup of my love was broken,
broken too the urn of her on the mantelpiece;
you, angel, have gone again in the wind,
fires have broken out and
the ashes from you have mixed with
the ashes of disaster, and
I join the march of broken people
soon to die as a crevice widens with dawn.

My child cries out:
Why is the world broken?