That calm: before?
after?— The storm.
The pause
that brackets
the feathered cry
at dawn— The rooster
trills Deny, deny—
And still the waters
rush across the pier.
The turnstile
at the station twirls
in place. A wall
is shorn away to show
the flimsy hive.
The branch comes down
upon the roof.
[LAG-signature date=”10 30 2012″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2012/10/159122919/”]