Flood
It is strange to think
that tonight
we are hearing the same rain,
that these thick,
grey
clouds
hang low,
but water the same ground,
that the gently churning weather
spans fields and lakes between
as easily as a midnight breath
through my window screen.
On my knees,
I fold a paper boat
from headline news,
I pray for a flood,
and sails
that send me to you.








