Hurricane Season



They are getting closer.


The rising gulf takes back the region

inch my inch.

Boneless fingers leap from the wet

crowd to grab a handful of sinking earth

every time they collide.


They are getting closer.


Sometimes I study a map

and see the skeleton where skin  used to be.


They are getting closer.


And every hurricane

wants to crumble an army

of levees and bowlegged cypress trees

before the coup de grace.


They are getting closer.


As if,

once storm season is over,

one wave says to the other,

“Maybe next century,

we’ll get real lucky.”


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