The Flood

Sing, madwoman, as the spring harvest

floats down the swollen river and the

saturated soil rejects the falling sky

Sing as adult children carry the sun

beneath their shivering skins

searching for a stolen summer

Sing, madwoman for you built your ark long ago

when you sank in human deluge

and the sadness could not hold

You, madwoman, who built your ark with

broken stories, hull hammered with upturned words,

pulling fallen folk aboard

Cry if you must for this sinking world

but also sing, for you have always floated

while the strongmen have drowned.