Always these days of nearly

undone, something like almost
& nothing at all, so we take again

to those forecasts—that devastating,
that spare. & there somehow—what

can be measured in inches & those
exact & exacting hours of rise or crest

& the names of every soon to be washed
-out road, each river or creek shore

in peril, called, & the types of levees topped
or failing, & even the force & speed of

wind that will carry & carry away—no
surprise. So, cast into news we can’t

live in & can’t without, made &
remade, every season weathered.

 

 

 

 

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