The white farmhouse he grew up in; 

nothing as it should be.

Waist-tall cattails,

their seeds carried in by flood waters.

The heartland, turning into lakes.

A conspiracy of silence;

a lingering fear;

a Chinese hoax.

When the foundation went in,

unleashing a wave of water,

fertile soil washed away

leaving cracks in the fields.

In the distance, a lava-like inferno.

The glowing sliver of hell burning.

The decomposing cross his father built,

surrounded by somber parents.

I look at the heavens once in a while and think,

no choice but to wait and watch.