The Storm

Leaves are plastered against the windows of a black Jeep
Just beginning to curl-dry at the edges
Green lips asking
For another chance
But no, it’s done…done-done
And with its brethren
They course down the drive in the run-off tsunami to
The gutter to the grate
Water working-working and moving
Driven solemnly and gaily to gravity’s grave
(So long it’s been good to know ya)
Sorting the chaos into streams of the fallen… no one will soon care about
Until next time.
And there will be a next time after the sorting-sorting
Some things stay while others are dispatched to parts unknown
And here-after.
We are surprised by the toughness of it all
Ya we took that shot
But still standing, (a few leaning)
Us tough knots
We have weathered another one
This one
Somewhat re-arranged
And maybe just a little changed.