Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Dancers in the Waters of Chaos



The squirrels make it rain again 
The morning after the storm
Has abandoned pieces of itself 
On the crooked fingers of the forest. 
The squirrels sashay 

On the evidence of last night’s violence,
Tears falling to the decaying wood floor.  
The squirrels scamper and stumble in the quiet
Like tourists in cathedrals and children over gravestones.  
While I whisper my prayers for those drowning in the Flood, 
The squirrels make it rain again. 




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