Witness to a Hurricane II

The rain of a hurricane
Does not fall
Nor does it slant; 
It slices horizontal, 
Cutting like shards of glass;
Tastes of salt, 
So gritty with debris
I bleed.
It is a flood shaped 
Like a circling maelstrom
Boiling over the brim. 

The winds of a hurricane 
Are not just air streams
But lashes from the whips of the Furies
Exacting punishment for the sins against the sea.
Those gales scream like Sirens 
That drive sailors insane.
  

The eye of the hurricane

Is the Eye of God, weeping.
But blinded by tears and the rampage.

A Child's Halo Of Soap

In only underpants she runs outside

After a spring rain

To play on the wet lawn,

Drawing a halo of soap

With the huge bubble wand

Slung in a wide circle

As she spins on bare toes.

Then the child stands still in the center

Of that universe she made

Arms outstretched in orans

Like a disciple in prayerful awe.

The sun glistens

Through that transparent film

Making iridescent colors shimmer

On the stained glass temple of her body,...

Until air movement strains

The fragile structure and it pops,

Showering tiny bubbles around her

Like snow.

written 11/04/2012  published in 2013 Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review