Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Going Home


    Ben and Jessica stopped,
    Bodies rigid.  I reached
    For my non-existent gun
    As the earth irrupted
    Screeching like a tin roof
    Bending beyond its limitation.
    Seeing a brilliant churning
    I climbed up from the sea,
    Seeing Susan at the tiller
    With wind sweeping her hair
    About her head.  I sat there,
    Water dripping from my mask
    Watching her never wavering
    Eyes as she steered toward home.

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