After The Fall

The banksia fell in the night,
There was no sound, nor
Any fight that I could tell,
Just a massive root unearthed-
Core of the old tree slumped
Like a drunk on the grass,
Mute where it fell.
Gone before its time
There was no foretelling
Such gusts and sodden earth
Conspired at either end
To do it in, Only
The solemn trunk down,
Smashed cones, brushes
And a shattered blue bin.
Perhaps sleep
Is not the realm of stillness,
After all,
Dark silence a verso
Of sorts for an unwaking
Unbidden violence.