Noah gathers his company of choristers -.
board the ark for Monday rehearsal.
(The) Bach is tough, eight complex parts
but, says Noah, no-one will drown.


Camaraderie fits like a comfortable cardigan
shrugged over shoulders – It’s cooler tonight.
Sacred music to fit the mood sombre
scant on spontaneity.


On board the ark we’re the rescued ones;
spared the storm, but the timber is singed.
Grandmother’s ring, Godson’s mate,
someone’s partner, friends since kinder -
nothing left but a melted steel ladder.


They died in pairs, the call too late -
cremated in the furnace God didn’t light.
They lie unknown, as yet unclaimed,
floating still
in the flood of ash.


Come the rains, our ark will float
charting a course through Bach and beyond.
But for now this night
a mass of praise
can’t drown the crescendo;
the voiceless chorus
rising up from blackened hills.



©Leigh Hay 2009 two days after Black Saturday