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It is a disquieting thing
to watch the sky shattering in a storm.
Wind currents rushing violently, as if being whipped,
by some task master, unrelenting in savage cruelty,
the pieces of the  heavens that are split apart.
Such storms are not the stuff of dreams,
but terrors of a sleepless night.  And after,
the silence disturbs even more. It disallows
the soul to settle in peace; we must listen,
search for some name that will identify what is
left to find upon the land that has vanished;
the place, the life we knew by heart we walk, clumsy,
heavy our feet and arms, as we lean over to
grasp at the straws of our lives we once called
forever. A jelly glass, strangely intact rolls up against
the splintered shaft of an old axe, rubbing forcefully
against the wood, as if to destroy itself, to leave us
nothing of our past.  Surveying the peaceful sky
we can no longer trust the future.  There is only


If you have ever survived a devastating storm, you will understand what is enough. . .