soil softened by the touch of pelting rain
moving slowly to an unfortunate rhythm

i am sitting here and sitting here is killing me

mud running down the clear cut hillsides
unexpectedly overwhelming with the richness of earth and water

elemental in my present state

with the careening waves of slurry
voices ring out in haste as the children run

I am immutable as the song-less stones

shelters await them at the end of this long night
warm cots and a sense of displacement

lichen grows on me like a sylvan beard

in the end they will survive with something lasting
personally bearing the lessons of tragic events

immaculately singular in my permanence
I weather all of these storms
but not without trenchant scars to show for it