The Flood

The water’s coming up.


that old Spring thaw.

Brought rain from the mountains,

more rain than we had seen

in a long time.


In the night,

the river overflowed its banks,

washing way homes

and people

and dreams.


It’s easy to underestimate

the power of water.

One drop from the sky,

one rivulet runs down the mountain;

a trickle,

a stream,

a river,

an ocean,

a tsunami.


Still waters hide their depths

by showing us the sky.

A firmament reflection,

covering up the past.


Everything that ever was,

or ever will be,

is water,

and tonight

it’s rising high,

pushing us inland.

Seeking higher ground,

because nothing we have made,

not our strongest constructs,

will stand against it.


Gathering up all that is precious,

we stifle our tears

and plod on through the night.


always upward.

We huddle in shelter,

trying to stay dry,

but the water is on both sides of our eyes

and we can’t stop the tears,

nor the rising water.

Morning’s gonna show us

what we lost;

how much the water took away.


The Sun will rise,

mirrored in a million reflecting pools,

showing us the sky;

flaming streaks of broken magenta.

Blazing orange slashes,

heralding a clear future.


On the ground there is pain

and loss

and destruction.

All the beautiful things we built,

ruined by the water.

It will be hard to rebuild;

harder still to carry on,

knowing that it’s coming

with the turning of the Earth.

That water mark

that never leaves our minds.


Piece by piece,

speck by speck;

the water moves the mountain.

All things return to the sky

and the sea

and on and on forever.

We rebuild.

We plan better.

We do what we can,

because in the end,

we know,

that we too

are mostly water.


HG – 2017

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