I woke up in the dark, but I was dreaming. Memories of salt and scales. Turbulent clouds and cloying air that choked me. I searched for the ocean rhythm and found only a syncopated beat interrupted by static.

The water wilderness yearns to be wild, no more.

The streets: gone

once flooded with us, 

not the stream

The dam: gone

I see the branches of a small tree,

And several phone chargers all around me,

A can of tomato soup empties into the flowing brown water

And a small pen that belonged to Mrs. Leah’s daughter,

It was July when disaster struck Vermont. Flooding, heavy rain, and surprisingly, rainbows. I felt fortunate to enjoy rainbows during the floods. Twelve blocks and five stories above Lake Champlain, I felt safe.

There is a web and it holds us. 

Pieces come apart so we help rebuild it. 

We are a species that has forgotten our place on the web, so the earth reminds us.