Our Round House
encircles us in
the storm.
The ceiling
flutters, then snaps taut
under thrumming raindrops
that bombard us
like endless thoughts -
pummeling us into sleep,
into dreams...
into dreams...
our canoe
springs free as
poisons wash
away
downstream
downstream
we plunge into
possibility -
possibility -
into
stillness.
How much
stronger we are
in this Rain Drum,
this
quiet.
--for Torrey, on his birthday!
--for Torrey, on his birthday!
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