for Shuqualak, Mississippi
Whereas the sea creates
music, the sky can also bend
to the ground & strum
the earth apart, leave it
totally undone but singing.
Afterward, the space
the storm leaves between
ground & cloud fills
with saw teeth & spinning lights.
They have a way of cleaning things—
of rubbing the sky
back together—a bow
drawn its length along
the taut fiddle strings, my lungs
opening into the morning
as if for the first time.
The house is back
in its original form: block
by block we stack it nearby
for the rebuild, the decrescendo
almost completely decayed
as the pierced water tank
drains at the feet of pine trees
across the road.
