In Medias Res
It’s time to take inventory
of all we have lost. If we lie still,
we can hear the hours
whistle through the empty house.
A spring storm moves in from the south,
catching us all by surprise.
So much left undone. We cling
to the psalm of structure like an ark,
but the truth is no day is promised.
Blame the weather and its proverbial
smooth sailing. Boy, were we fooled.
The sky is utter and vast, with more questions
than answers in each tiny bulb of rain.
How much can we really hold in our hands?
Beyond that, it’s beyond our control.