WATERMARK

   

   

 

          August 02017

 

Here, drought. Forests burn.

There, neighborhoods and houses

flood. Wildlife and humans flee their

homes, lost, breathing smoke and ash,

struggling through high water. Fighters hold

the line, weave rescue boats through swollen

streets, sometimes die beneath flaming trees or

cold water. Fire jumps rivers and roads. Rain tops

levees. A child is peeled from her dead mother’s arms.

 

We lie together, seeking solace, seeking safety. I rest

my hand on your heart. It still beats. You hold my

head against your chest. We sleep. We wake.

We turn toward each other, away from this

burning, flooding world. In this way,

in this place, far from floods, miles

from fire, we breathe smoke, ash,

each other, peace. In this way,

we pray.

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