Ridding the winds of Hurricane Matthew.
A felt vibration of wind, in a word.
Ephemeral slight of meaningless wind.
Up from the rock strewn friction chips signaled
Itself relax. Those who escaped the rock
Were lost. For my part, I swam. On that rock,
The stone music led and had envisioned
The deep, the stone. This was the cornerstone
If the cornerstone happened. The white line
In the water, to clean his catch on man,
God’s eyes watered the dew point like a ghost,
Took water, and rose up the stately streets
Between the high wave that rose up in him
In the blowing in off the lapping waves.
therichardbraxton 