untitled #3

When the flood comes,
there will be no talking to it.

It will fill the empty spaces,
held close, within and without.

In those broad shoulders,
that fill the darkened doorway.

In that anxious heart,
that turns every moment over.

It will find a way through us,
leave our tongues thick in our throats.

A dull and desperate feeling,
tamped down, pushed back, bargained with.

But to no avail.

It’s so close,
I can hear God whisper in my sleep.