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  • Gary Hunter

The Day After (Hurricane Hilary)

the first rays of Monday’s sun dry heavy wings

mud shovels lay encrusted on the grass

as backs and arms rest in the bright light

water-trapped cars tan in mirrored lakes

a hiker stops at the gouge in a road

he’s walked for twenty years


the day after all of life crawls out

to look the hammering memory

of what water and wind can do

still fresh the dark side of nature

slices deep into human nature

unspoken trust massively betrayed

and as if to say

“I’m sorry”

the finger of morning

slips under every chin

and gently lifts


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