Photo by Christopher Raley

Flood

I left the concert hall
ear-buzzed and elated
though I knew nothing different
would await me.

I dwindled with crowd,
cut through deserted park to avoid
over-long sweep of boulevard.
Stooped lights made small sanctuaries of path.
At the amphitheater a pierced face
peered over stone-masoned wall, quiet watch
for nefarious dealings behind.
Upside down bicycle must be a signal.
Or metaphor.

I paused partway on bridge’s shallow arc
over creek’s rushing flood. Rapids glinted white
in an ever changing script judged worthy
of momentary study by depth’s
push to rise. Behind me the moon
was a caustic mouth paused mid-word,
neither grinning or frowning.
Just as confused as I,
and her the revealer.
Clouds raced north over her face
making way for the next storm.
Water separated the amphitheater,
took the stage and front row seats.
Punks huddled far back in the dark.
And the flood’s cryptic words
bled out under my feet.

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