The earth awakens from its drowning.
The water is getting off the mountain as fast as it can
like the people chased from their farms in these hills years ago
by the storm of the Great Depression until they finally came to rest,
settling like glistening silt at the foot of the mountain.
I see their faces in the dry stream beds now flowing wet again.
I wander this dripping, draining world, seeking a place warm and dry
while the tumult in me slowly subsides
and the roaring that arises from overflow
becomes the gentle silence of letting go.