Flood

Flood

Taking the blue-bonnets,
dropping from paradise,
creeping up steadily,
warning us gradually.

Let it run
its muddy course.
The salt in my tear—
notwithstanding.

Sometimes the only choice—
else we’ll be drowned,
wade through the water
to the high ground.

Else you yourself will be
swept away, drowned—
rather than waiting
on the high ground.

My deep breath—
the high ground.
The salt in my tear—
notwithstanding.

Within the grieving weep,
waiting is nourishment,
Life will be born again.
creeping up steadily.

Mud in the water
holding creation,
leaving behind it,
more than blue-bonnets.