The deluge inside me—a constant roar,
Rain hits the roof with a splat,
Frequently repeating rat-a-tat-tat,
A quieting spirit says easy, no more.
I remember Noah, his Ark all afloat,
Biding his time with the deluge,
Nestled the creatures in this refuge,
Grounded, finally, on Mt. Ararat remote.
A new world, absorbing the soak,
Where mind receives a lesson anew,
The ethereal realm yields a clue,
Still wet behind the ears: their kinfolk.
But then and now a second chance,
To journey to the western horizon,
With fresh hopes of the soul enliven,
To see my reality beyond mere trance.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.