The Hundred Year Flood
Water, water everywhere;
nothing here is stable,
but the moon sickle sinks
her tendrils into our hearts.
Roots reach
below the diluvian chaos,
anchor us
to the terra firma
that is down there,
somewhere –
we sense it
in our memories,
in our dreams.
after a painting by Greg Edmondson.
From my new collection The Eden of Perhaps (Spartan Press, 2020)
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