Storm River

Storm River (9th November, 2008, 9.46pm)

The wind has whipped itself
into frenzied helplessness,
launched a thousand fallen
leaves into the air; the swans have
gone to ground, huddled like
bone china representations of
themselves, the riverside sad
shelter for the homeless.

The rain lashes, angry tongues
of punishment, dashes the loose
branches down; drops rain like
gunfire amongst the splashes;
boom, boom; logs hit the pontoon
like bombs, the boat trembles;
I lean, turn up the stereo, drown
out the sound of falling water.

The wind subsides, easing off
geezers in the sky; serene, we
lie, listening as the water gurgles
past at head height. Rocked in
our cradle by powerful hands,
we wait for the river to rise, inch
by swirling inch; muddied, angry,
spilling the night into the light.