"How can we live in this fear?"
        DENISE LEVERTOV

Clouds may drift from the west.
They could fork lightning
or rain to gentle the dust.

Tires might hold air:
past fir and madrona and bleached grass
they might roll thousands of miles.

Goats might climb up the slender trunks of saplings
until they eat up-standing, like people.
Poised in their shoulders,

turkey vultures might circle and angle
an hour before they perch on the downed oak
and fold in their great black coats.

The building's thirty-eight floors
might sway only a little as hail like thrown peas
rattles windows and the elevators rise.

Butter might rest in its own dish,
fish gape in the tank, and the phone
when it rings could be someone loved.

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Copyright © 2014 Lex Runciman All rights reserved
from One Hour That Morning
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission