Awoke. Alone.
Looking for my family
after the storm.
Under a tree,
prey of its own
unbearable appendages.
Split open by the wind
finding no one.
What could be worse?
Never being alone?
Always having that special someone
to hold your hand on the way
to the rusted water fountain.
Always together in some ailing park
where birds once sang.
I carry the despondent woman
whose ending is revealed
in the first line of the first act.
What was stolen in this storm.
Continuing to pray
for the lost souls of the departed,
but I am not sad. I am high as a kite
like a god on easter sunday
because it is the end of the world
and my town is in ruins.