Contributor: Sam Ballard

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So many times, I've heard the howling
of nature herself arising,
frothing
the boom of liquid stone
the churning of the earth
about to fountain
as if waiting for you and I
to go up in flames

And all those car accidents
all the violent crashes
that came when you cried
as if the tearing between us
was tearing at the fabric
of too-fragile reality

Ripples,
the little ripples we make
all the rage and pain
of a pair of butterflies
and all of the hurricanes
that follow in our wake.


- - -
Sometimes, when my fingers find the strings of my favorite instrument, I still think of you.