“The storm, the blackout, the quiet sea
You went running right into it, away from me…”
“So Far, So Fast,” The National
maelstrom
He said then,
“Do not free me.
The sea is hungry,
and I have no strength to turn my ear
from the song upon the waves.”
As he spoke the lightning flickered,
mirrored in aquamarine.
“Do you hear it?”
And creatures moved in the deep.
When the rope snapped at last,
he looked long through me, luminescent:
“The call is stronger than the fold.”
And then he leaped, heeding
what he held
in his heart.
The morning brought him back again,
floating in the tide.
He never looked
more human
then when seeking
to be filled.
erosion
I want more
of Your blood, one cup is not enough,
and this book ended too soon
for my liking, I want 29 sequels,
spin-offs, and backstories.
And while we’re on the topic,
the life You promised me is hardly as exciting
as the one that I read about in the brochure.
The least You could do is show up
once or twice, a little fire in the night,
a miracle or two, a modern-day revival —
seems like You would be into that sort of thing,
at least, that’s what Your flyer suggested.
I guess if there’s not more than this,
I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.
floodplain
Falling down
is something I know.
It feels at home in my hands,
like the hungry fingers
of my children,
who also know it.
We are like rivers, I guess.
It is in our nature to go down, and down again.
and only when we are cupped in a hand
or folded into doughy clouds
is such a law suspended,
only when we fill
the thirsty earth.
Now is not enough
and never will be,
so we roll on to the ocean.
We wait to be lifted, filtered, fed —
to fall again.
golf-ball sized hail
We were standing in the line
for ice cream when the hail started,
so we hunched our shoulders
and endured
for the sake of
“two scoops peanut butter cup in a waffle cone, thanks.”
and it’s true,
we were made to eat and drink,
to like it,
but if I see brimstone
I’m out of here.