After sustained winds,
a tidal surge, power outages,
waterlogged generators,
felled trees, and standing
on the roof,
I lay on the carpet,
letting the images
dart through me,
and thanked my life
for letting me be here,
while Albert mewed
and licked my eyelids
until they opened again,
like gold lamé
at a spa theater.
Then,
on the plasma screen,
water, fuel, and sewage
mixed
with debris,
a resilient rat blinked
at a flashlight beacon,
nurses carried
neonatal babies down
a dark stairway,
and fine sand painted
everything unnatural white.
When the wind howls
and a sea full of
compressed skulls
surges against
the windows,
we are all children.
It’s the oldest timepiece—
liquid dripping in a tub
until the little clay vessel
fills and sinks to the bottom,
and a bare hand plunges in
to empty and
float it again.