Dreaming a Hurricane
The hurricane I vanished in
has fallen still,
and here am I,
no less in love with life or sky,
if but a small
and dazed thing.
Within a blur of blue and green
one sees the world
unsuddenly
demonstrate its changing way,
from blue and green
to orange white,
from starfish to a broken egg,
from children somewhere,
gesturing,
to burnished hawks, surrendering
in the dawn.
The images
I take with me, rearranged
in flight or dream
are all I know
of God, or me. Often the dead
of night implies
it's best to be
asleep to see, awake to love,
and just a little
dazed to be.
This holy, holy trinity.
(first published in NV/C)
