After The Storm Hurricane Milton
They kneel in water that once was their streets,
hands, like small boats, lifting the broken
pieces of each other—what is left
of their homes sway in the wind’s aftermath.
But in the hollows of their ribs,
compassion flows, fingers reaching out,
the strangers have come as if drawn
by some invisible thread of the heart.
A woman holds a child not her own,
and in the grocery lines,
men share silence as a form of prayer.
The sea still seethes in their veins,
but they have become each other’s islands,
speaking in gestures,
their empathy moving through the ruin,
like light on a broken mirror.
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