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Hurricane
T-square riding the edge of the drawing board
forms a base for the right triangle
neatly establishing the comfortable and ordered
properties that have come to be expected.
Then a whirling dervish spins a vortex of darkness.
The centrifugal counter-spin of weathered marauders
hurl bolts at the heart of endurance.
Dreadlocks dangle from her monstrous head
dumping the suitcase of life.
Yesterday’s laundry hangs on the line
with bric-a-brac treasures of questionable worth.
Time becomes overtime waiting
for the baroque sky and antiphonal roar to recede.
She plods away
climbs collapsing walls
eye toward a sunlit roof
of escape.
A swamp lily scatters petals
over scoured pebbles in the marsh.
Warblers chitter from the naked tree.
Return to Volume 1.2
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