Monday, August 14, 2006


The storm
a lumbering behemoth
approaches now

The thunder rolls in the distance
or perhaps it’s just the marching band

During those last days
did Noah kneel beside the boat
praying the skies would open to
soak his dry skin

Did the gathering clouds
breathe the vapor of what was to come
into his lungs
along with the dust of what had been?

Will these dry bones ever rise again?

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