Irene
The neighborhood is lining up again
the local food bazaar filled to the brim
The sky, a grey light drizzle but quite calm
Pedestrians stream home before the storm
I'm a dot
A particle, free
I'm waiting for the surge from the sea
the wind picks up
and brushes down the track
each raindrop, a pinprick on my back
and so i stop by brother mark's
to stay the night with friends
i pour 4 whiskeys on the rocks
he cooks beneath the dimly lit kitchen clock
all the while we talk of hurricanes
back in houston then - canoeing in the rain
laura drops
her finger in the sauce
she says it's good for all of us to eat
so we stop
enough to hear the knock
swaying branches and raindrops in sheets
tapping on the top
wrapping us in breeze
the night i spend sleeping on the floor
in and out of sleep - a room with no door
the tree outside projects a silhouette
and bends back and fourth like a blade of grass
i'm up
so i walk down the hall
i watch my friends sleeping sound
and i stop long enough
to spread my thoughts around
i awake to the sound of breakfast bells
so i guess that means the battery held
we take a camera down on the street
among the limbs freshly cracked at our
the air is clean
the trains still at a halt
the boarded up windows on the block
sit so serene
the calming aftermath
the entrails of the midnight bath
and of course we're holding hands
or at least thinking like that