We went (despite Irene's disruptive tears)
to walk around the local county fair
in hopes of disregarding the despair
that overflows when bedrock disappears;
a mediocre gathering was there
the grandstand seats awash with empty tiers
the most that we had seen in many years
perhaps because of dust that clogged the air--
those remnants of the raging water's wrath
were clinging to whatever they could find
especially the solidness of ground,
a river has the right to change its path
and so does every other thing in kind,
the greatest comfort we have ever found.
Are You Reading Me?
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