Art by Gustav Klimt
After Hurricane Harvey
*****
I’ve always kept certain questions
tucked away like forbidden
family secrets.
Yet, something has shifted,
these last few days.
what is this helplessness?
what is this vigilance?
what is this hope?
What is the source of these inquiries?
What is triggering them out of
placid hibernation?
Can this be?
Can it be I attribute inspiration
to the intensity with which the sky falls?
But, that is far too complicated for today.
Today. Today . . . I am happy
with the simple things.
I am happy with the wind in the trees
and the crunch of dry(ing) grass
beneath my feet.
I am happy with the song of September
enveloping my waist like so many
curious yet subtle fingers.
I am happy with the trill of the bird,
imperfect and uncertain as it may be.
I have learned
that the heavens
hold enough water
to saturate the earth and
make it plead with overwhelm.
And, I have cried, because
some forms of abundance
are cushioned with tears.
But, though I have been pounded by an
unleashed dam, today, my spirit
fills to the brim with a craving
that gushes from this world
into the far beyond.
The fallen blossoms from a crepe myrtle
scatter in the thickening morning.
Last night’s moon hangs
from the clouds—an
echo, a remnant, a
revenant.
Like a thirsting willow, I unfurl my
splendor cautiously. Bowing down,
I deliver, and I receive.
