The deluge was slow coming to skies above us

We listened to it drum out chaos

just on the other side of the rafters

we hoped would hold the storm at bay

Creaking under the weight of all the world above

held up by our eyes gazing at a wooden sky

our hands outstretched to warm by a dying fire

sputtering beneath the rain coming through the chimney

but still alive, still devouring

holding out hope for a break in the storm

a tunnel away through thunderheads

to a world beyond the rain

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“Stop the count” is the battle cry of American fascism.

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Photo by Gabriele Diwald on Unsplash