Oh darkening sky
descending with fog and storm,
the world telescopes in the opposite direction
and the wind blinds us to the last of the light.
On the water
three tons of wood and aluminum shatters into debris
everywhere our vessels yaw, pitch, collide
the tide mounts the wharves and slips
its fingers around the cherry tree, the elm
yanking foundations to fell what has
clung and resisted for a hundred years.
We are being scoured
extinguished with the headlamps and streetlights;
there are not woolens enough to keep us warm
nor shelter enough to keep us dry.
When the ocean comes for us, it comes in
earnest, and with no heavy heart.
PBSweeney September 2006