On a quiet street

On a quiet street

With few black hearts

And nothing to see

But reflections of other lives

Staring back

A river sprang up,

A raging torrent

A force majeure,

It was more than a trick of the light.

It swept me away

I am compressed,

Formless

Unanchored.

Without purchase

There is nothing to sustain my presence.

In displacement

I am dispersed

Lost in the dark

Unprepared

Attached to my loss by a thread.

The pounding of blood

In my ears

Reminds me how to breathe

And in the moment

It takes

To remember,

I am returned, bone dry.

The street empty

My heartbeat steady.

And I walk on.