Wrack and Ruin
The storm whipped legs to huddles;
It spoke with the discarded clothes
of mad clowns.
I watched small birds explode, deer swim
toward the night, raccoons sail
a godforsaken sky.
A mottled land shook its muddy ribs.
Ducks sunk amid churning reeds.
A whittling wind hurt every heart.
I closed cowering eyelids,
hid from the calamity jig
of the bobbing
and the dead.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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