First Line from Emily Dickinson

The reticent volcano keeps

Having untamed anxiety dreams. 

In one there is a magma shortage.

Crust rupture friends turn to foe as

Each one hoards, holds onto more

Than they could ever need

In centuries of nonstop babbling. 

Back at home, creativity: individuals 

Make their own mix of crystals, liquids, 

Noxious bubbles. When they find something that works,

Up-charge the product because above all, always profit.

But in the dream she had last night,

All around was only silence.

No ash-covered land nor lava stream,

Just emptiness, an ungodly quiet.